


The Way Back

by Katnissinme



Category: Hunger Games - Fandom, Hunger Games Trilogy
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 125,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katnissinme/pseuds/Katnissinme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Katniss and Peeta, the way back is a winding, challenging road, filled with regret, hope, sorrow, joy, danger, security and discovery. Post-Mockingjay, pre-epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visit

_“Let me go!” she screamed._

_“I can’t.”_

I catch myself staring out the window again, replaying our last moments together for the hundredth time in my mind. I shake my head, and return to my painting. 

Over the last several weeks, Dr. Aurelius and I have spent countless hours sifting through my muddled memories. Painting helps. I conjure up images from my shifting thoughts, and many times we’ve used my renderings to decipher real from not real memories and events. The process of depicting the scenes in my head on the canvas in front of me soothes me. I let myself focus on the colors, textures and strokes, providing increasingly frequent moments of escape from the startling images that sometimes torment me otherwise.

Today I’m painting an image of her, of Katniss. I can’t quite place it, though, and I’m hoping Dr. Aurelius will be able to help me figure it out at our next session. She’s looking at me, with an expression that mixes concern, confusion, urgency and fear all at once. Trouble is, I only have her – there’s no background to the image yet. It’s still too murky in my mind to make out. Right now, I’m struggling with creating the perfect shade of grey, when I realize I’m no longer alone.

“Hey, Peeta.”

I look up, and confusion crosses my face for just an instant. “Hey, Gale.” Not someone I expected to ever find standing in my doorway, frankly. I try not to show my surprise.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“It’s a free country, or so they tell me.”

He grins and takes a couple of steps inside the room. He can’t see the canvas I’m working on from where he’s standing, and I don’t make any move to get up. I have mixed emotions about him being here – I remember enough to know we’ve never been friends, and my instinctual reaction to his presence is apprehensive. But, I also recall our time together in the Capitol, and know (or have at least been told many times) that we are not enemies, either. Eventually my curiosity wins out. I’m not really eager to make this easy for him, however. 

“So, how have you been? Are you feeling, uh, better?” he inquires.

It’s not clear if he’s asking about my physical or mental progress, or both. “I can’t complain, I guess. Probably feeling better than you look, though.” He looks….weary. 

A rueful smile. “Yea, probably.” He doesn’t make any move, in either direction, and seems at a loss for words. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what he’s doing here. I would have expected him to be…elsewhere, with the military, back in District 13, training new recruits, or possibly with her. I wonder, briefly, if I should be preparing for an attack, but I’m pretty sure I could still take him.

“So, Gale, what have you been up to? Or have you decided Capitol life is for you, now?” I don’t mean to sound so snide, but I can’t take it back now.

He looks at me then, not taking the bait for once, but rather as if he’s debating something in his head. I keep painting, glancing between him and the canvas, waiting for him to figure out what he wants to say, or do, or whatever. I can’t say I’m happy to see him, but part of me is grateful for an opportunity to interact with my past, if for no other reason than to see how it affects me, whether or not it will trigger another episode.

“Just passing through, really,” he starts. He pauses, though, and seems to still be testing the waters with me before getting to his real reason for being here. “But, first, what are your plans? Any idea how much longer you’ll be here in the Capitol?”

I look at him now, totally perplexed. Small talk was never Gale’s forte. And, seeing as how the last conversation we had was in Tigris’ hidden room, I find his thinly veiled attempt at chit-chat amusing. Clearly, there is something on his mind. I’m just not sure what’s keeping him from getting to it. 

“Well, I don’t seem to have worn out my welcome just yet. But no, I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. Why do you ask? Looking for a roommate or something?” I grin. The suggestion that he and I might ever exist in the same room for more than a few minutes without trying to hit each other is ludicrous, of course.

He looks shocked, for a second, but then laughs when he realizes I’m kidding. I’m not prepared for his next question, though.

“So, I know it was all part of the Games, the strategy and all, but…that night of the Victory Tour, with Ceasar, on stage. How much of that did you really mean?”

I stop painting. This is awkward. Fortunately, I know he’s talking about my proposal to Katniss. The one we agreed needed to happen publicly as a desperate attempt to keep everyone we knew and loved alive. But, he should know that answering that question would be challenging for me now. I may have seen the tapes of that show, but I can’t possibly remember how much was real and how much was staged. And I certainly never, ever imagined Gale would be asking me about this. Something is definitely wrong. I put down my brush and stand up, taking a step towards him, evading the question I can’t really answer anyway altogether.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

Gale looks positively conflicted. Anguished. He just keeps looking at me, clearly struggling with whatever it is he came here to say.

“Gale, tell me why you’re here.”

Finally, he gives in. “She’s not doing well, Peeta. I went to see her, in 12. I knew, after everything that happened, that it was a long shot. But I had to see her, to talk to her. Only…”

As he starts talking, my heart starts racing. I knew Katniss had been sent back to District 12. I knew that she was restricted there, that Haymitch had gone back with her, and that President Paylor had conditionally pardoned her for killing Coin. But that was all I knew. I had not attempted to contact her, nor had I gotten any information from anyone about how she was doing. I figured she was struggling, but I also figured that once she was able to get back to the woods, back to hunting, she’d find herself again. Hunting was her painting, her best therapy.

“Only what, Gale?” I keep my voice as steady as I can. I need to know what he knows.

“I don’t know what I expected, exactly. Maybe I was hoping that she would at least understand how miserable I was about what happened that day. Maybe I just wanted a chance to tell her in person. But, when I got there, I never expected to see…that. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s just a shell, Peeta. She’s not really there. She just sits by the fire all day, eyes open but not seeing. Sae says she barely eats. Haymitch, well, when he’s sober enough to remember to go see her, says she hasn’t spoken since they left here.”

My mind is forming an image as he speaks, one that threatens to crack my calm demeanor wide open. Despite the miles and miles between us, I can see her as if she’s sitting right in front of me. I can almost reach out and touch her, almost smell her hair…I refocus and try to quell the rising anxiety I’m feeling. “Go on.” 

He looks totally distraught now. Clearly whatever happened was disturbing enough to drive him here. That can’t be good. 

“When I tried to talk to her, I just started saying how sorry I was, how I would never, ever have hurt Prim, how I needed her to understand. At first, she didn’t react at all, and then,” he stops, almost shuddering from the memory he’s reliving. “Then, she looked at me with cold, hard eyes. And she, just, snapped. Something in her just went wild. She started flailing and hitting me and screaming and…” He looks at me, pleading. “I didn’t even recognize her.”

There’s no love lost between me and Gale, but even I can see how much he’s hurting over this. But I don’t say anything. What could I? Tell him it’s okay, she’ll come around eventually, that she knows he didn’t mean to kill the one person in the world she cared about more than anything or anyone else, including herself? I don’t think so. I wait, and give him the space and time he needs to come back to our conversation. 

“She needs you.”

His words hang in the air between us. For a moment, I’m not even sure I heard him say it. I just look at him, while my emotions run in a thousand directions at once. Fear. Hope. Anger. Anticipation. Confusion. Concern. Denial. Happiness. Revenge. Hate. Longing.

He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. But still I don’t say anything. My mind is racing as fast as my heart is beating, and I’m not entirely sure that the room hasn’t started spinning the way the Cornucopia did in our second arena. 

“Did you hear me? She needs you. I want her to need me. So badly. But,” and here he stammers. “But, I know now, especially now, that I am not the one she can’t survive without.”

Slowly, I let out the breath I’ve been holding all this time. I look back at the canvas I’ve been working on, and so many questions flood my brain all at once. Could it be true? Could Gale be right? Is there any way I could help her? Am I even well enough to be thinking about this? What if she reacts the same way to me as she did to Gale? What if I react to her the way I did in District 13? Would I ever survive that? Would she?

He’s looking at me, staring, waiting for me to respond. I’m not sure what he’s expecting me to do or say. It’s not like I can just hop on the next train to District 12. While it’s true I’ve made significant progress in the last several weeks, I also know I have a lot farther to go. And I know that I may never truly be rid of these episodes, these waking nightmares, that turn my insides out and fill my head with thoughts I never imagined myself capable of when it comes to her, or anyone for that matter.

“I’m not sure I’m the one she can survive with.” It’s honest, at least. 

Gale looks deflated, but only for a moment. He seems to regain some of his composure. “Look, if you meant what you said that night, and all those other times, then you are. And you have to try. You and she have a connection, you share a bond I will never have with her. You may be her only hope at this point.”

I’m about to lie, to say that I never had any intention of seeing her again, that I can’t afford to be near her again, have no desire to help her, but I stop myself. It’s not true, and I have enough lies in my life I’m trying to get rid of as it is. “You don’t understand,” I say defensively. “I’m not cured. I still have episodes I can’t control sometimes. I can’t risk hurting her. And besides, how do you know she won’t react to me the same way?” 

“I just know. Because I know her.”

I look at him then, and I feel…I’m not sure. But I know what he means. And I also, guardedly, hope that he’s right. 

“What, exactly, are you asking me to do, Gale? What do you want?”

He laughs, ironically. “Well, those two things couldn’t be more different. But, I’m asking you to help her. Try to help her find her way back. I think you’re the only one who can. She’s strong, we both know that. But I think she may have finally run out of strength, Peeta. And I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t do whatever I had to do to try to save her. Since I couldn’t save Prim. So, here I am, doing it.”

I study him for a good long time. It’s unfathomable to me that one person could have such a profound effect on two people and, in all probability, never even know it. 

“I’ll think about it.” That’s all I can say right now. I turn away from him, growing uncomfortable now with the request I could have never seen coming in a million years. I decide to change the subject. “What about you? What are you going to do now?”

He takes the not-so-subtle hint and starts moving toward the door. “I’ve volunteered to go to District 2 to help with the rebuilding there.”

“That’s good.” I wasn’t there, but I’d heard he played a role in the devastation they experienced. 

He looks at me one last time. “That’s penance.”

And then he’s gone. I sit back down on my stool, and consider the image I’ve created in front of me, but I don’t seem to know what to do with the brush now. 

Oh, Katniss. Where are you?

* * *


	2. Needs

Dr. Aurelius is sitting at his desk when I walk into his office. It's not my usual appointment time, so he looks up with surprise when he sees me.

"Hello, Peeta. Is everything alright? Did you have another episode?"

"No, doc. That's not why I'm here. I need to go home." It's not the first time the topic has come up between us, but it's been a while. I had sort of resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to be allowed to go anytime soon. So I hadn't broached the topic for a few weeks, I guess. And I'd definitely never been this blunt about it before.

True to his clinical nature, he doesn't show any visible reaction to my statement, though. He looks at me and doesn't speak for a bit. "Oh. And why now?"

I've given a lot of thought over the last 48 hours to how I would answer this inevitable question. I rehearsed and practiced a list of compelling and completely made-up reasons why I should return to District 12. That he's helped me all I can. The rebuilding efforts I want to help with. My desire to bake. That I want to immerse myself in the ashes of the bombing so I can really go crazy. Not wanting to spend more than a minute in the Capitol than I have to. Well, maybe that one's not so made-up. But in the end, I simply blurt out "Because she needs me."

His eyebrow arches, and I simply stare back at him. "I see. Anything else?"

Not the reaction I was expecting. I expected a counter argument. I expected questions about my statement. I expected a long list of reasons why this would not be a good move for me mentally or emotionally yet. I expected, well, almost anything other than this. But I consider his question for a moment.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I think I need her, too."

So many of my lingering questions are not things that Dr. Aurelius, or anyone here, can answer for me. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the only person who can answer many of my questions is sitting in a rocking chair in front of a fire place, slowly slipping away from reality, life and me. As scared as I am about being near her, I can't risk losing her altogether. At least not before I settle some things between us, find out the truth about some of my random thoughts and feelings. I need her to tell me about our past, particularly the moments that only the two of us, meaning only her, now, know about.

I come out of my own thoughts again to find Dr. Aurelius regarding me. He's tapping his fingers, just staring at me, his face expressionless. He's gotten a lot of practice at that lately, though.

Finally, he sits up, takes out a piece of paper, and begins to write. I just stand there, not sure what I'm supposed to say next. Eventually, he looks up at me.

"I expect weekly phone calls, or during or after any episodes, and that you keep with your medication. You should also continue your painting, and find other…activities…to fill your time with as well."

He hands me the piece of paper he was writing on. It's a letter authorizing me to travel and leave the hospital. I look up at him with a faint smile. "Wow, if I'd known it would be that easy I would have walked in here weeks ago."

He grins, but then takes on a more serious tone. "Peeta, you've come a remarkable way, especially in our most recent sessions. But you know, as well as I, that there is still a lot of progress to be made. However, I agree with your assessment at this point. Ms. Everdeen has not been in contact with me since returning to District 12. I hope you will encourage her to respond, as the alternative is not probably one she would relish."

"I'll see what I can do." I turn to start to leave.

"And Peeta," he calls. "While it's true that you may need Ms. Everdeen to help you decipher some of the remaining questions you are facing, please don't get your hopes up. You have had the benefit of months of therapy and treatments. Ms. Everdeen has not. She may not be," and he pauses here, clearly trying to be delicate, "She may not be the way you envision her to be."

I think about this for a moment, then look him dead in the eye when I say "I certainly hope not."

* * *

The train. Jumbled images pour through my consciousness as I ride along. Throwing a knife. Drinking hot milk. Dancing together. My paintings. Kissing. Making love. Rubbing her stomach. Laughing at me. Poison in my drink.

I shake my head, willing my mind to become a blank slate. I close my eyes, hoping sleep will take me away from this confusion, while also not sure the place it would take me would be any better than this.

I spend much of the train ride roaming the cars, or sitting in the back car with the wind blowing my hair, trying not to feel overwhelmed. Trying not to panic. Trying not to think I've made a terrible, horrible mistake.

* * *

It's night when I arrive. I've not told anyone I'm coming, so there's no one there to meet me, and I'm relieved. I'm torn about where to go first. I know I don't want to go to town yet. I'm not ready. And the smell in the air confirms that what I'll see in the daylight will easily try my newly acquired coping skills.

I briefly consider dropping in unannounced on Haymitch, but quickly decide against it. I haven't had much practice dodging his knife throwing lately, and I'm not quite ready for verbal combat with his acerbic tongue after my long journey. I've missed him, but feel like I need to settle myself here before I engage him. I decide to just head to my house in Victor's Village.

As I'm walking, I notice some wildflowers just beginning to bloom. Even in the moonlight, I can appreciate their brilliant hues. It's reassuring, in a strange way, to see new life blossoming out of the old ruins. A reminder the life continues, even after tragedy engulfs you. And then it hits me. I had been struggling with figuring out how to go about seeing her. But the flowers inspire me, knowing that Katnisss has always responded to the nature around her. For a fleeting moment I question whether or not this might be too much too soon, but I decide to take the risk. I just hope I can find what I need.

After a quick stop at my house to drop off my bags and pick up a few supplies I need, I head out toward the edge of the village. I don't know how far I may have to go to find what I'm looking for, but after about an hour of roaming around the edges of the forest I come across them.

It takes almost 2 hours to dig up five of the bushes and make my way back toward her house. I debate with myself whether to wait until morning and present them in the wheelbarrow, giving her a chance to accept or reject the gift. But, in a rare moment of boldness, I decide to go with my instincts. According to Gale she's not hunting, so I should have a couple more hours before she wakes up.

I start working on the side of her house under the windows by the living room. I have no gardening experience, so I'm winging it as I begin to dig up the earth. And really hoping I don't kill all the plants in the process. I know I've never been super aware of how noisy I am in the outdoors, but I thought I was being somewhat quiet. So, I'm taken aback when I look up and see her standing there.

I only have a moment to take in how she appears, but it's enough to be unsettling. My heart skips at the first sight of her, even as the good/evil battle she was certain to induce in the battlefield that is my brain begins. At first I must see more of a memory, or one of my paintings, as I am reminded again how beautiful she is. But as my eyes focus and I start to truly take in her form, I can see why Gale was worried. For a moment, I wonder if I'm seeing the ghost of the girl on fire.

"You're back," she says.

Her words rouse me from my reverie. I'm not sure what to say, so take her lead and go with an obvious, factual response. "Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

She doesn't respond to this, and we just stand there, idle, visually reacquainting ourselves with one another. She looks….bad. She's too thin, her hair is matted, and her clothes look like Haymitch dressed her, several days ago. She's got dark circles under her eyes, and they are lacking the brightness, the sparkle, I associate with them. They're clouded, and as I watch, they change. From nothing, to surprise, anger, recognition, and then, what? Fear? How is it possible that I can so easily read her emotions, after all that's happened and the enormous distance that has grown between us?

"What are you doing?" she asks me.

Uh oh. Maybe I should have asked first. "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her. I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." _I thought you would like them,_ I hold back.

She just stands there, processing what I've said. She almost seems ready to fly into a rage, and then her face softens. For a split second, I think she's about to cry. And then, as suddenly as she appeared, she's gone. Back inside the house, slamming the door on her way. I stand there, stunned for a moment. But, then, I'm relieved.

She's here. She spoke. And seeing her didn't trigger an immediate episode. For the first time in months, since that horrible day in District 13, I feel a glimmer of hope. I keep digging.


	3. Haven

I slam the door behind me and the panic is already starting to rise. I have to get out of here. I have to escape this house. I have to get away from him. I have to run.

I have to get to the woods.

I run upstairs, frantically searching for my boots, my clothes, my hunting jacket. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing. Out of habit, I begin to braid my hair, but it's so horribly tangled and filthy and unkempt that I can't get it to work. I can't even get my fingers through it. Out of frustration, after shattering a glass and barely realizing it, I quickly take a cold shower, to help me wake myself up and get my hair at least wet enough to do what I want it to do.

The shower helps a bit, but as soon as I'm out the feeling of walls caving in on me starts to rise again. I braid my hair quickly and sloppily, I throw on my clothes and head downstairs. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, my groggy, half-functioning senses alert me to another's presence. At first I'm confused. He didn't follow me in here, did he? But as I round the corner and look toward the back of the house, I realize it's not Peeta, but Greasy Sae. She's come, as she always does, to make me breakfast.

I do not want to eat. I do not want to talk. I especially do not want to explain myself right now. But I do have one lurking question, one possible hurdle to fleeing that she might be able to clear up. I head for the kitchen, not sure how to get the answer I need, my mind racing. She hears me coming and looks up, obviously surprised.

"Well, well. Mornin'." She quickly turns back to the stove, trying to hide her grin that I can only assume is her pleasure at seeing me up and dressed at this hour. I don't have time to disillusion her.

"Sae, where's Gale?" I blurt out. After months of not talking, my first words to her should probably be more grateful, acknowledging even, but I never did have a way with words or people. That was always him, I think to myself, then banish his image from my head as the panic threatens once more.

I've clearly surprised her twice in one morning, but to her credit she tries not to let it show. "Hmmm. Not sure really. He said something about going to District 2 when he was here."

I almost get distracted by the troubling reference to Gale having been here. But, I have the information I need. Gale is not here in District 12. So, there's no chance he'll inadvertently cross my path today. That's the only hurdle I needed cleared before I take off. I'm turned and out the door before Sae even realizes I'm no longer there.

It's still before dawn, and I'm running, running as if being chased by anything and everything I've kept at bay these last few months. With no sun or moon out, it's still fairly dark, but my feet don't seem to have forgotten what my mind has made every attempt to obliterate. I am quickly running through town, toward the meadow, toward the woods, toward my escape.

I vaguely have a sense that I'm not the only one up and out at this insane hour, but I don't really see anyone or anything else. I'm only focused on one thing – get to the fence, get out of here, as fast as I can. The panic that I have so far managed to stifle is simmering just under the surface, and I know that the only way to squelch it is to get to the woods. My woods.

At some point I stop, and realize that I'm there. I don't remember crossing the meadow, or getting through the fence, or even entering the woods. But here I am. Dawn is just breaking. For a moment, I'm frozen, overwhelmed by the smells, the sights, the sounds of this once-upon-a-time haven. But the panic soon returns, and I find my feet in flight once more.

I am crashing through the woods, not even trying to keep quiet. My bow and arrows clang on my back. Branches, leaves, sticks – all make a cacophony of sound as I trample through the forest, sounding more like a herd of wild horses than a hunter. I am barely aware of where I am going, until suddenly, I stop once again. I look around, and with a sickening jolt to my stomach, grasp where I am.

Our meeting place. The rock where Gale and I, so many lifetimes ago, would come together with such ease, such friendship, such a sense of freedom. But that was so long ago, so far away, and so much has been lost between here and there. The panic, the claustrophobia, attacks me with new vigor. I'm holding my head, spinning around, fighting off images of a time and a friend I can never have back. Before I realize what's happening I'm fleeing again.

I run, loud, haphazardly, directionless. Tears are streaming down my face, but I don't even really know, and I certainly don't care. I have no idea where I'm going, until I'm assaulted once more by my surroundings and a vision of my haunted past I cannot shake from my head. A girl and a boy, a hovercraft, a spear, a net, a look of desperation. This is where Lavinia, the red-headed Avox I saw captured from these woods, last implored me, without words, to help her.

I think I'm screaming now, but I can't hear myself. I'm blinded by rage, fear, my past, my insanity. I have to get away, I have to keep running, I have to leave, I have to find a way out of these images that haunt me and taunt me and won't let me go. The branches are tearing at my skin as I break through them. I'm stumbling more than running, as vines and roots impede my feet's ability to propel me forward.

I don't know for how long or how far I move. I only know that I am nearing exhaustion when the landscape changes. Some part of me must have known all along where I was heading. It stands before me, a glassy mirror that I am absolutely terrified to gaze into. The lake.

I fall to my knees, sobbing, overcome with a sorrow so deep it threatens to drown me. I am unable to form coherent thoughts any longer. Gale. Lavinia. My father. Everywhere I run I am confronted with loss. Prim. Rue. Finnick. Boggs. Cinna. Mags. District 12. Like unrelenting waves, their images crash over me again and again and again. I am helpless to fend them off. My haven, my sanctuary, today feels more like a graveyard full of ghosts intent on shattering whatever remnants of sanity still remain in me.

At some point, I crawl into a corner of the cement house and curl up into a ball. I can't run any more. I can only hide.


	4. Revelation

As I'm putting the last of shrubs in the ground I see her run out of the house and toward the meadow. Her hair braided, dressed in her hunting clothes, with her bow and arrow slung over her shoulder. I almost call out to her, but she's gone before I can get the words out. A smile crosses my lips as I think, smugly, that my presence may have been more helpful than I had originally thought.

Having been up all night, I'm hot and tired when I finish planting the primrose bushes. I head into my house, take a quick shower, and collapse on the bed. I sleep most of the morning, waking up in the early afternoon with the sun high overhead. I rummage around in my kitchen, not finding much available to eat. I decide I should go check on Haymitch and at least let him know I'm back. He may also be able to shed some light on Katniss and what's been happening since she came back. Before I go, I unpack a few things, roam around the house doing a quick inventory of immediate needs, and try to straighten up things here and there.

I stroll over to his house at some point that afternoon and knock on the door. After a polite pause, I simply let myself in, remembering that daytime is usually not his most social hour. His house is pretty much as I expected it would be – random piles of everything from papers to clothes to empty bottles lay scattered in every possible place. The shades are all drawn, blocking out the sunlight. The layer of dust is visible to the naked eye, and the smell is enough to make me wish I still had my gas mask from the last mission in the Capitol.

True to form, Haymitch is passed out on his kitchen table, bottle in one hand, knife in the other. I decide to disarm him of both, as my self-defense skills are a bit rusty from lack of practice waking him. For a moment I toy with the idea of pulling a Katniss-impression by dousing him with cold water. But I decide against it, as this is my first encounter with him in a long time. Wouldn't want to get off on the wrong foot right from the start.

"Haymitch!" I shout, knowing that soft, soothing tones will get me nowhere. "Haymitch, wake up!" I push him, not roughly, but firmly. He grunts, but makes no sign of actually waking. I think for a moment, then decide to try something new. Scrounging around his filthy, disgusting kitchen, I actually find what I'm looking for, to my surprise. I pour some into my hand, step toward him, and blow it into his face. Perhaps the water would have been safer.

A low growl builds with such speed and volume that for a split second I'm afraid Haymitch has actually been turned into some kind of muttation. I take a step or two back, thankfully, because with deceptive speed he is up and swinging blindly for his attacker. This only lasts a moment, though, as the pepper I blew into his face takes hold of him with a fit of sneezing. I have to stop myself from laughing too hard.

"Hello, Haymitch. It's good to see you again." I am grinning broadly at my old mentor.

He stares at me for a moment, seems to deliberate whether I'm real or a figment of his imagination, then says gruffly, "'Bout time you showed up."

I laugh, and start clearing the table of its contents so we can sit and talk. He sits again, retrieves the bottle I removed before waking him, and takes a good long drink. I manage to find a clean glass hidden in the back of a cupboard and fill it with water before putting up the window shades and joining him at the table. He's not happy about the light, but doesn't bark at me either. I decide to accept this as his welcome home gift.

He looks at me, clearly inspecting my current state of being, before saying, "So, they let you out, huh? Why in the world would you come here?"

I shrug, not wanting to just jump into everything, and reply, "Nothing better to do I suppose. And someone had to make sure you were still breathing." It's my way of telling him I still care about what happens to him, too.

"Hmmph. Breathing is terminal," is all he says. "So, how long you been back?"

I tell him about my trip, and he asks about my time in the Capitol. I can tell he's making an effort to be less sarcastic and insulting than usual, which I appreciate. We had talked a lot during my time in District 13, so there's no revisiting of what happened to me during the rescue at the Quarter Quell, and the feelings of guilt he had about leaving me behind. I know that Haymitch has as many demons and nightmares as the rest of us, and I don't wish for my situation to add to his already too long list. I don't harbor any resentment toward him anymore. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Eventually, after about an hour or more, the conversation turns to the real reason I'm back, the reason he came back, the reason for, well, everything it seems. Katniss.

He broaches the subject with his usual tact and finesse. "So, you seen her yet, kid?"

I smile just a bit, and nod my head. "Yes, I saw her briefly this morning. I was planting primrose bushes outside her house, you know, to honor Prim. She came outside while I was digging."

This has his attention, clearly. But when I don't continue right away, he gets annoyed. "And?" he finally barks at me.

"Well, she asked me what I was doing, then went back inside. But about half an hour later I saw her leave to go hunting."

He stares at me, stone-faced, expressionless. "Hunting?" His tone tells me he doesn't believe me.

"Yeah, she took off running for the meadow with her gear and her hunting jacket on." I'm smiling broadly now, no longer able to hide the pride I feel about being able to accomplish in about an hour what he had not been able to do in weeks, months even. She's talking, dressed and out of the house within an hour of seeing me. Not bad, I think.

But the look he's giving me now doesn't even hint of admiration. Far from it. I falter just a bit in my pride as I try to figure out what he's thinking.

"What time was that, again?" he asks.

"Uh, I don't know exactly. It was early, though. Before sunrise. Why?" I'm aware of a growing feeling of uneasiness as his reaction continues to be completely different from mine.

"Is she back yet?"

Now I'm definitely uneasy. "Er, I don't know. I haven't checked."

He immediately gets up and leaves. Haymitch always was able to surprise me with his speed and agility, despite his staggering levels of alcohol consumption. I'm not sure where he's gone or what I should do, when he's back in what seems like less than a minute or two. He doesn't sit down though. Instead, he's pacing back and forth in the kitchen, pulling a hand through his hair.

"Haymitch," I start to say, but I'm meaningfully interrupted.

"Lemme get this straight." He's still trying to be civil, but his tone is dripping with you idiot, nonetheless. "She sees you for the first time this morning, planting flowers in her yard in honor of her dead sister. The only thing she does is to ask what you're doing, and then she takes off running half an hour later?"

When he puts it like that, it sure doesn't seem like the positive steps forward I had chosen to see. "Yea, I guess you could say that. Haymitch, what is it? What's wrong?"

But he doesn't answer me, he just says, "She's not back. Come on."

I follow him out his front door, and notice it's much later than I realized. It's almost evening now, and the uneasiness I was starting to feel quickly turns in to worry. Of course Haymitch is concerned. How could I have been so stupid, so naïve? It's way too late for her to be out. She's barely been functioning for weeks. She was running, full tilt, this morning, and for all I know kept that pace all the way out of town. She's not strong enough to endure a full day of hunting, and he knows that. He knows her. Clearly better than I do right now. How could I have been so blind?

I don't know where we're going until Haymitch stops at one of the other houses nearby and bangs on the door. Greasy Sae opens up and smiles when she sees the two of us. But her smile quickly disappears when she sees the look on Haymitch's face. He doesn't waste any time with pleasantries.

"Sae, did ya see Katniss this morning?" he practically demands.

She looks from him to me then to him again before she answers. "Well, yes, matter of fact I did. Went over to her house early, same as always," she turns to me now, her smile returning, with a hint of a wink in her eye, "an' saw you plantin' them beautiful bushes. I figured you wanted to surprise her, so I didn't say nothin' as I walked by."

I smile in acknowledgement, but inside I'm thinking to myself that I have got to get better at being more aware of what's going on around me. Two people got past me this morning without me even knowing it. That would have never happened a year ago.

Haymitch isn't satisfied. "Yeah, yeah. The baker can shovel it with the best of 'em. What about Katniss? How was she this morning?"

Sae returns her attention to him, frowning again, and seems to be conjuring up her image of Katniss this morning before she answers. "Well, she surprised me, for sure. I was in the kitchen, and she came in, already dressed an' everythin'. Before I knew it she was out the door."

"Did she say anything? Did she eat?"

"No, she didn't eat nothin' – tweren't ready, and I wasn't expectin' her to leave so fast. But she did ask me somethin' strange, now you mention it. Wanted to know where Gale was."

Haymitch and I are both silent for a moment when she says this. My mind is reeling – Gale? Why in the world was she asking about him? Based on how he described their last meeting, I can't even begin to process this unexpected turn of events. But, as usual, Haymitch seems to be a step, or twenty, ahead of me.

"Damn. Thanks, Sae. She ain't back yet. We're gonna look for her. Call around, see if you can find anybody else to help."

I can't keep up with Haymitch as he wheels around and heads for town, the same path I saw Katniss tear down this morning. "Haymitch! Wait! What's going on? What's wrong?" I'm yelling at him as I awkwardly sprint to catch up. Running is not something I excel at these days.

He turns to me and for a moment I get the distinct impression that he cannot believe I could be this dense. But he obviously thinks better of taking the time to blast me about my stupidity, and instead talks to me like I'm a five-year-old.

"Katniss is missing. She clearly had no intention of hunting today. We need to find her, before it gets dark." And with that, he takes off full stride again.

Only now it's my turn to start panicking. I can't go with him to the woods. I can't even go with him to town yet. I'm not ready. And I'm certainly not capable of dealing with this much turmoil so soon after coming back myself.

But how can I not go? I'm the one responsible for driving her out there in the first place. If it hadn't been for my arrogant confidence that I knew what was best for her, she would never have taken off like this. And now Haymitch is headed out to the woods, at dusk, only half-sober. Who knows where Katniss could be? She could be miles from here by now, or so high in a tree no one could find her.

Except him, of course. Gale. I'm so irritated by the thought that I have to literally swallow the bile that's rising in my throat at the idea that he would be able to fix this faster than anyone, and that I would once again be in his debt for keeping her safe from my actions. Ugh. Will I never be rid of his shadow?

As I'm wrestling with these conflicting motives, I realize Haymitch is getting away from me, and I need to make a decision soon. He clearly assumes I am coming with him. But he doesn't fully understand the implications of that. As much as I want, no need, to make this right, I have to be honest with myself and admit that my coming along right now would create more problems than it would solve. I can already feel the specter waking, and I know my new self well enough to know where all this stress is taking me.

"I can't go with you," I shout at his rapidly departing back.

He stops for a moment, but doesn't turn around.

"Haymitch, I'm not ready. I can't go to the woods yet. I'll just…I'll just be a burden and slow you down." What I want to say is that I think I'm going to lose it soon right out here on the paved streets of Victor's Village. That this turn of events is way too much for my damaged brain to handle, and that any moment now I'm going to become the person I can't stand the most – the evil, Capitol-grown Peeta who wants nothing more than to kill Katniss Everdeen. I absolutely cannot afford for him to be the one to find her in the woods tonight.

"Fine. Stay here and see if she turns up." He never turns around, and is off again as soon as he says it. I know I've disappointed him, but I can't do anything about it right now. All I can do right now is get myself back in my house, preparing for my own battle of wills, and hoping I still have the strength to win.


	5. Burdens

_I'm running as fast as I can, but they are gaining on me. I finally reach the ladder, but as I turn, I realize they are too close. I start shooting them, pulling arrow after arrow from the sheath on my back, but there are too many of them. I can't kill them all._

_Suddenly, I feel myself yanked up, past the ladder. As I try to look behind me, someone grabs hold of the back of my neck and turns me to face down the hole I've just ascended. What I see horrifies me._

_First Finnick, then Jackson, then Holmes, Boggs, Rue, Cato, Wiress, Mags…so many faces, each one pleading with me to end their life as the mutts tear at them and rip their heads off, only to have a new face appear in its place. I am writhing, trying desperately to either get to a weapon or at least turn my face away from the nightmare unfolding below me._

_But someone is restraining me, forcing me to watch these violent, repetitive deaths. And then it hits me. That smell. That nauseating, heartwrenching, unbearable smell. Roses and blood. Unmistakable in its stench. And I know he's here. I know he's the one forcing me to endure this, again._

" _Oh no, Miss Everdeen, there's no escaping for you. Dying would be much more….merciful than what I have in store for you."_

I wake suddenly, completely disoriented and having no clue where I am. I'm cold, stiff and in the dark. Panic is quickly threatening to overtake me once again, but I force myself, somehow, to resist it. I reach out, and my hands find the coolness of the cement that surrounds me. Slowly, comprehension sets in. I am at the house by the lake. I came to the woods today and ended up here. I must have fallen asleep. I was running, fleeing from…what? Fleeing from…him. Peeta.

It all comes rushing back now, and I sit up, hugging my knees to me and rocking back and forth. He's back. And I had to get away. I had to get away from his burned, scarred body. From his limp. His strong hands. His soothing voice. His deep, captivating eyes. From his selfless acts.

How can he possibly stand the sight of me? How can he act so calm, so relaxed? How did he not just take that shovel and smash my head in? He should hate me. He should despise me. He should never want to set eyes on me again. After all he's been through. After all the pain and suffering I've caused him. After everything that's been taken from him because of me. How can he not loathe my very existence, the way I myself do?

I continue to rock back and forth as the tears spill out of my eyes, making no attempt to stop them or wipe them away. I am such a wretched, undeserving creature. I should be dead, but no. He took that from me that day. He couldn't possibly have let me off that easy. He needs me to suffer as he has suffered, to endure pain and hardship as he has endured them. He couldn't let me go that day because he knew I had not even begun to pay for what I had done to him, to Prim, to our friends, to all of Panem.

Even as I am thinking these things, a thought is tugging at my mind, demanding my attention. But I push it aside, refusing to entertain any other possible explanation. I know what I am. I'm a murderer. I'm a cold-blooded killer. I'm a selfish, vindictive, vengeful girl who used people when it suited my purposes and never looked at the havoc I wreaked in my wake.

I deserve the hell I'm living in now as retribution for all the suffering I've caused.

As I settle on that thought, a howl in the distance brings my current reality back into focus. I am in the forest, alone, at night. I grudgingly acknowledge that I am not brave enough to wait here for the wild dogs to find me and tear me apart. I try to get up, and find that I am unsteady on my feet. I can't remember the last time I ate or drank anything, and I've brought no provisions with me. I'm too weak to climb a tree, and while this structure provides a façade of security, there is really no defense if the wild animals track my scent here. I decide to move.

I'm stumbling in the dark, groping my way, only half aware of the direction I'm going or what I'm even walking on. I don't know how long I travel before I start to fall, pick myself up, and fall again. The sensation is eerily familiar, but this time there is no poisonous fog bearing down on me. Just my own memories of the sins I have committed.

I make it a few more hundred feet, and then I am spent. I lie down in the leaves, resigning myself to be a feast for some wolf or dog pack by morning, and start to slip away. Though death would be a release from this wretched existence, if gruesome enough, perhaps it will begin to atone for the atrocities I've committed or indirectly caused. If only they could see me perish. If only I could give them one, small moment of satisfaction that I bore the punishment I deserved. But, alas, I am alone.

Then, in the distance, just barely, I think I hear something not of the forest. A voice. Someone is shouting, though I can't quite make out what they are saying. Using the last bit of energy I can summon from somewhere deep in the depths of my soul I rise one last time. I turn in the direction of the sound, wondering who will be the lucky one to see me suffer my fate. I don't have enough strength to respond, but manage to glimpse his familiar face as darkness consumes me once more and I collapse.

* * *

Thom and I have been wandering the woods for over two hours, frantically searching and calling her name. Dozens of horrible, unacceptable visions keep threatening to play in my mind, but I refuse them entry. Refuse to give up on this poor, broken girl, who despite all my best efforts to the contrary, has needled her way into my life – and though I would never admit this out loud to a living soul – my heart. She's the family I never had. After perfecting my ability to close myself off from any and every other human being, I can't deny that she's important to me.

I suppose that the boy means something to me as well, but it's not the same. I should be madder at him than those tracker jackers she dropped on him in the first arena, with all his goody-two-shoes nonsense about making her feel better with those damn bushes. Stupid, no doubt. Naïve, absolutely. Unexpected? Hardly. Kid's worn his heart on his sleeve for this girl from day one.

And, though I will never, ever give him the satisfaction of hearing this from me, part of me is glad he did what he did. Yeah, it might work out pretty damn badly if we don't find her soon, but honestly, something had to give. She was not comin' out of her funk this time, that much was clear. After the other one left, I thought she might have finally come totally undone. No one and nothing could reach her.

But he did. He always has. Her Achilles heel. No matter how far down she fell, how many walls she erected, he could always get through. Fun to watch, mostly, 'cause it pissed her off so much sometimes. Problem was, she was way more unstable now than she had ever been. Poor kid had no way of knowing that, seeing as how he'd had his own demons to dispel the last few months. So yeah, it was great that he had finally elicited a response, any kind of response out of her. But, as the stars multiply, and the night air grows more chill, I am beginning to wonder if that response might ultimately be the end of her.

Finally, I see something off to my side. It's dark now, and hard to make out, but my instincts tell me it's her. And, thankfully, where she's concerned, my instincts usually pay off. I pick up my pace, raise my voice, and reach her just as she passes out and falls into my arms. I pick her up, and am dismayed instantly at how easy that is to do. I knew she had not been eating, but I guess I did not realize just how far gone she was. It's like carrying a small child, and it stirs me.

I yell for Thom as I head back to the meadow. When he reaches me, we quickly look her over to assess if there are any immediate injuries that need to be treated. Nothing jumps out at us, so I decide we should just get her home. Besides, I need time to figure out what the hell to do now that the kid's presence has clearly sent her into a tailspin.

Thom offers to take a turn carrying her part of the way, but I shrug him off. This is a burden I accepted a long time ago, and I'm not about to put it down now.


	6. Basics

As evening turned into night, I battled myself in the confines of my house. Dr. Aurelius and I had worked out a list of responses for me to rely on to combat my episodes, increasing in intensity as warranted. Deep breathing. Repetitive phrases. Gripping hard objects with my hands. Calling him. Banging my head against the wall. I even had a pair of handcuffs I could use, as a last resort.

Thankfully, I didn't have to go that far. This attack turned out to be a series of less intense images, as opposed to a single debilitating one. I was used to handling these. It left me drained, both mentally and physically. I was weak and exhausted by the time I finally felt the attack subsiding. But, once again, I had managed to fend off the assault on my own, for which I was grateful. Now, I could return my attention to the bigger problem.

Haymitch had been gone almost three hours. I felt like such a fool, especially for not having gone with him. But I also knew that would not have done anyone any good, especially Katniss. He needed to find her, not look after me. I got up from the floor where I had struggled against the last lies the Capitol had polluted my mind with, and went to my front porch, hoping to see something encouraging.

I was not entirely disappointed, though it was not a reassuring picture either. Haymitch was carrying an unconscious Katniss though her yard and into the house. I hesitated only a moment, then quickly made my way over to her porch. But I did not go inside. No more making rash, spur of the moment decisions where she was concerned. Instead, I sat on the steps, arms on my knees, hands clasped, and settled in to wait.

I did not want to risk her seeing me. I did not want to make an already bad situation even worse. I had a hunch that Haymitch would not stay beyond making sure she was okay, and about 20 minutes later I was proven correct. He came out the door, stopped when he saw me, then quietly pulled it closed and stood behind me, leaning on the post. He let out a big sigh, and didn't say anything else. I waited for him to make some kind of snide crack, thanking me for how much help I had been today. But when he didn't speak, I couldn't wait any longer.

"How is she?" The tremor in my voice instantly conveyed my emotional state.

"Asleep." That's all I got. He wasn't going to make this easy for me, was he?

"Haymitch, I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" I trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"Look, kid." And he settled himself on the steps next to me before continuing. "You, me, all of us, we've all been through hell and back to bring down the Capitol."

I give him a scalding look, reminding him that some versions of hell are worse than others.

"Yea, I get it. Your hell was particularly charming. The point is, everyone who was part of this had to get through some version of hell to survive. To come out on this side of things. Only, she hasn't. She's still in hers."

The weight of his words sinks in with me. Of course he's right. He always is, and that's one of the many reasons he's so damn irritating. But hadn't Dr. Aurelius tried to warn me about the same thing?

And slowly, I start to look at the situation from a less personal perspective. It occurs to me that, as hard as my recovery has been, it has been just that. A recovery. Or at least the beginning of one. But Katniss has not even gotten that far. No one has been here in exile with her to help her start putting pieces back together from her shattered life. She's just been in limbo, existing each day, not moving forward.

"I just wanted to help her, Haymitch. I just wanted to reach out to her." I sound so pathetic. But it's the truth.

"I know, kid. And you may be just what she needs to find her way out. After all, she's not dead. I half expected that, the first few weeks we were back here. I mean, I couldn't keep an eye on her all the time, after all. I really expected to walk in there one day and find her, you know."

He never ceases to amaze me. This drunken, abrasive, smelly bear of a guy. In his own way, Haymitch loves Katniss almost as much as he loves his booze, I think drily.

"But she didn't. She's still here. She must have been holding on to something, somewhere deep inside."

He's not looking at me, just straight ahead. These words rest in my head, waiting to be explained. But he doesn't go any further. He just sits there, waiting for me to make the next move. So, I decide to get his attention for a change.

"Gale came to see me in the Capitol. That's why I came back."

That works. He cocks his head toward me, trying to see my expression, but I don't look at him so he can't see the thin smile that is threatening to enlarge itself. My opportunities for surprising Haymitch are so few and far between that I have to relish each and every one.

Clearly, he's waiting for me to expand. "He told me about his visit with her, about the condition she was in when he was here. He, uh, suggested I should come back and see for myself." I didn't want to say any more than that.

And I didn't have to. "Well, how _noble_ of him. Yeah, that visit was a hoot, alright. Whopper of a good time all around." He pauses. "Gale is most definitely  not what that girl needs right now."

"Am I?" The question is out of my mouth before I can contain it. I wish I could retrieve it, but I know I can't. So I steel myself for the inevitable insult that will follow.

"Well, now, that just remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

Haymitch stands up. "I'm tired, and haulin' her ass all the way back here was no walk in the park, lemme tell you. I need a drink. Scratch that, I need several. Keep an eye on her."

And with that, he walks off to his house, no doubt eager to erase a lot of this night with his long-time mistress. I am a bit stunned, surprised that he just assumes it's okay to leave me here, at her house. After all, he hasn't really asked if it's safe for me to be near her yet. But there he goes, and here I am, so I use the silence and the cool night air to think things over and decide what to do. At least it's clear we agree she shouldn't be left alone right now.

Eventually, I get up and let myself inside. I don't turn on any lights. Her house is familiar enough, and I don't want to risk disturbing her. In fact, my plan is to just sit quietly in the shadows and watch her for awhile, making sure she's physically okay and actually resting. Beyond that, I'm still not sure what should happen. I'm thinking a call to Dr. Aurelius as soon as possible might not be such a bad idea, either.

Using my talent for blending in, I find a place as far from her as possible where I can still see her, just in case, but where she shouldn't see me if she's restless and stirs, half sleeping, half awake, as I know she is wont to do when she is plagued by her nightmares. I can only assume she still has nightmares, but I'm willing to place that bet. I sit on the floor, my back against the wall. I'm tired, but my mind is sifting through too much for me to be able to sleep yet. I watch her, hearing her slow, steady breathing, seeing the way her hair is falling out of its braid, taking in the smoothness of her cheeks, the way her hand falls across her stomach as she sleeps. She looks so peaceful. So small. So…vulnerable.

Time passes, and I just stare at her, not really seeing her all the time, just looking off while I try to sort things out in my head. We've been apart too long for me to feel like I know what happened today, what set her off, or what's going through her mind these days. I can make some educated guesses, but if there is one thing I know about Katniss that the Capitol did not take from me, it's that she is very unpredictable.

I know I want to help her. I know I need her to help me. The pull I feel toward her is already much stronger than I ever imagined it would be during my recuperation back in the Capitol. But here, sitting in the dark, watching her sleep, I have no idea what helping each other looks like for each of us. Clearly the direct approach I tried this morning was a complete failure, so I can at least check that option off the list. But where to go from here?

This is what I'm mulling over when I notice movement across the room. I don't move yet, as I'm not entirely convinced I saw it. Shadows have a way of playing with my mind these days. But then, I see something in the moonlight coming through the window. At first I'm apprehensive, but I quickly relax as I make out the rough form of a cat. Not just any cat, of course, but Buttercup. Prim's old cat.

He comes right up to me, and I pet him and scratch his head. I never had pets growing up, but I always wanted them. He starts to purr a bit, and I try to shush him, afraid he might wake her. As if sensing the source of my concern, he walks away from me, straight over to Katniss. Before I realize what's happening, he is pawing at her, and jumping up on the couch with her, clearly trying to get her attention.

I'm about to bolt when she stirs. Now I am stuck. I definitely do not want her to see me sitting in the dark watching her, and if I move, that is exactly what will happen. Darn cat. So, I take my chances and decide to keep perfectly still. I chose the darkest, most shadow-cast corner I could find. I just hope my camouflaging skills are still halfway decent enough and that her hunter's senses are sufficiently dulled right now to keep me hidden from her.

She's rousing, and figuring out who or what has disturbed her.

"It was a waste of a trip. She's not here."

For a minute, I'm not entirely sure if she's talking to me or the cat. But the cat hisses at her, so I decide to believe it's the latter.

"She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." Her voice starts to shake.

I can see she's growing agitated, hear her voice rising and becoming less and less reliable. "Get out! Go away! There's nothing left for you here! She's not coming back. She's never going to come back here again!"

I'm watching, mesmerized, but conflicted. Part of me wants to run to her and take her in my arms and try to console her. But a bigger part of me is afraid of the ramifications revealing my presence might have for her. And somewhere, something is telling me that she needs to do this. That she hasn't even gotten this far yet in healing. That she has to start letting all this out if she's ever going to find her way back. I feel guilty for being the intruder I am, but I stay silent and still, hoping she won't see me. She grabs a pillow and she's clearly crying now. She clutches the pillow to her middle, as if seeking support from it, as she screams at the cat again.

"She's dead! She's dead, you stupid cat! She's dead, and it's my fault! So go, go away and don't come back! She's dead, it's my fault, and I don't want you here!"

She's trembling and crying so hard it's difficult to make out the last few things she says, and I have to consciously stop myself from making a move. If I'm going to help her, I need to know some of this. And as calculating and cold, as unfair and unlike me as this is, this sneaking, skulking, prying choice I've made is going to help me help her. If I can stay hidden long enough to go undetected, that is.

She collapses back on the couch where Haymitch had laid her originally, and sobs into the pillow. _Hang in there, Katniss,_ I think to myself. _Hang on just a little longer. I am going to find you._ I don't say anything out loud. I still remember enough about her to know speaking up could result in one of us killing the other if she found me now. She wouldn't hesitate to attack, and that would probably be enough to trigger my darker side. So I content myself with just closing my eyes and sending every encouraging thought I can think of toward her.

After what seems like forever, she finally drifts off to sleep again. Still, I don't move for at least half an hour. I want to take no chance that she connects me with this rare, visible demonstration of her inner turmoil.

When I finally deem it safe enough, I slowly rise, stretching out my limbs and rubbing my leg where my prosthetic meets it. Once I get my blood circulating again, I move quietly next to her. She's facing the back of the couch now, and looks completely spent. I hover for only a moment, before I scoop her into my arms and take her upstairs to bed.

Several thoughts hit me at once as I do this. First, I almost lose my balance from the unexpected lightness. She should weigh much more than this. I've carried her enough times to know that. I make a mental note to myself to make getting her to eat a first priority. Second, I am confronted with a memory of having done this before. For a moment I am worried that this is bringing on an episode and that all of my silent waiting and listening will be for naught. But the memory that surfaces doesn't have that shiny quality to it. I see myself carrying her up to her room and putting her in bed, just as I'm doing now. Only then she was stronger, healthier, only physically injured. So much stronger than the frail form I transfer to her bed now.

As I lay her down tonight, the cat comes waltzing in after us. I'm about to shoo him away, not wanting him to upset her again, when he circles at the end of her bed and curls up into a furball, clearly intent on going to sleep. Something tells me this is a good thing, so I leave him be.

I step back from the bed, and just look at her. She hasn't even stirred from being moved, clearly having exhausted herself with the day's and night's events. I don't move for a few minutes, as my resolve sets. I've seen her like this once before, a long time ago. That memory is one that I know has been tampered with deeply, but I push the wrong memories aside and focus on what I know, or at least think I know, to be the right one.

We were young, about 11. She was starving, and had fallen against a tree in the rain behind my house. She was weak, frail, defeated, much like she is tonight. I threw her bread, because I loved her and couldn't stand to see her like that.

That's when it hits me. I need to go back to basics with her. I need to go back to where it all began. I need bread.

* * *


	7. Choices

It feels good. My hands in the flour, mixing in the other ingredients, bringing my kitchen, and in a small, humble way, my family, back to life. But especially the kneading – working the dough, over and over again, feeling it in between my fingers, losing myself in the repetition and familiarity. It helps me clear my head. It calms my nerves. It helps me think.

As morning approached, I let myself out of Katniss' house and came home, trusting that she would sleep until Greasy Sae showed up. I left my windows open just in case I heard anything that contradicted my assumption.

When I came home, I rummaged through my kitchen, worried that after my long absence I wouldn't be able to start baking until I could get my hands on some supplies. I was pleasantly surprised to find a box with all the basics sitting on my countertop. I had no idea from whom or when it came, but I couldn't deny the anticipation I felt to start making bread again.

I didn't have many opportunities for baking while I was in the Capitol. The hospital where I stayed had a small kitchen, but virtually no counter space, and certainly lacking most of the staples and tools-of-the-trade that bakers would consider minimal requirements, at best. I had used the lack of opportunity to bake there to focus on my other therapeutic activity, painting. I appreciated both the similarities and differences of the two hobbies, though, and it was not lost on me that both were efforts to create things, as opposed to destroy them.

This morning, though, I am relishing being able to bake once again. I don't have any fancy ingredients to draw on yet, so the bread I'm making is simple, but hearty. I'm torn between wanting to take my time with the process so I can keep sorting out my thoughts and feelings from the last 24 hours, and being eager to have finished loaves to start putting my new plan into action.

As I've worked, I've started making a mental list of things I know. Making lists was a strategy Dr. Aurelius suggested I try. At first it produced more frustration than results, as I would try to list things about my past that I struggled to remember. But with time, I found something therapeutic about trying to organize my scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. So, as I continued to mix ingredients and squeeze the bread through my fingers over and over, I make a list of things I know.

1\. Haymitch still drinks too much.

2\. Digging dirt feels good.

3\. Greasy Sae is kind and good people.

4\. I am capable of fighting off episodes, sometimes.

5\. It is still possible to succumb to an episode.

6\. Seeing Katniss for the first time did not trigger an episode.

7\. Katniss is not well.

8\. I still love her.

I don't know how long I've been standing at the counter, hands gripping the dough, arms covered in flour, just staring. That last item takes me by surprise, and I'm not quite sure where it came from or what to do with it. Do I really _know_ that? Maybe it doesn't actually belong on this list. Maybe this is a tampered memory, intruding on a list where it has no place. This is most likely just a programmed response, a lingering souvenir, courtesy of the Capitol. Or maybe, I'm not remembering the difference between knowing, and hoping.

I shake myself out of it, setting aside my quandary the same way I set the dough aside to rise. I don't know where that thought came from, and I do not want to waste time right now figuring it out. I replace it with "8. I want to help Katniess get better" and move on from there. As I'm mixing the ingredients for my third loaf this morning, I hear my front door open, unceremoniously and with a loud bang as it hits the wall behind it. I don't even have to look up before saying, "Morning, Haymitch."

I get a grunt in response. He sits down on a stool at the island I'm working on and watches me for a moment, still consuming his liquid breakfast.

"Anything I need to know?"

I smile to myself. I've missed Haymitch's conversation style more than I realized. But I can't help myself from having a little fun with him this morning. I guess I'm surprised by how much bantering with Haymitch relieves tension for me.

"Hmmm…I'm not sure. Have you ever actually baked anything before, Haymitch?"

I laugh again at the look on his face. He's not amused, obviously, but I'm in too good a mood to care. It's been a long time since I felt like I had a purpose, besides not going crazy in a mental hospital, of course. And it's been a long time since I baked. I'm not going to let Haymitch's surly outlook ruin this for me. He just continues to glare at me, though, not interested in playing along this time.

I concede. "She slept. I moved her upstairs. Came home right before dawn." I had already decided that I did not need to share anything about what I had spied last night. Some part of me knew that Katniss would feel telling Haymitch about it would be more of a betrayal to her than trying to strangle her to death.

He's regarding me now, trying to see if I'm withholding anything. I stay focused on my kneading, and try to keep my face expressionless. I know him well enough to guess that he's already spent time analyzing what's happened, that he's worried about her. I also know he's not going to just play counselor and babysitter, though. And, I decide, despite whatever feelings he may have, his own capacity for helping her is limited by his own ability to cope with day-to-day life. He's not exactly the role model for recovery she needs. Neither am I, I admit to myself. But, like it or not, we're all she's got for the time being.

"She needs to eat more," I say, waiting to see how engaged he feels like being this morning.

"Yea. But now that baker boy's back in town, I suspect that won't be as much of an issue. So what's your plan, kid?"

I debate how to respond to this. I know I need his help, but I'm not entirely sure in what way. I also suspect he has a plan as well, but know better than to expect him to share it with me until he wants to, or more accurately, until he decides it is strategically to his advantage to do so. Part of me is irritated by these games we play with each other. Especially now, trying to decipher what is real and what is just Haymitch being Haymitch can be downright confusing for me. But part of me accepts that this is Haymitch – these games allowed him to save two tributes instead of one, helped bring down a dictator, and keep him as close to sane as possible after all the horrors he's lived. He wouldn't really know how to be any different.

"Bake bread and paint. Haven't really gotten past that yet." I decide the "less is more" approach is best for the time being.

He snorts at me. "Hah. Yeah, right. Don't try to con a con man. Let me know when you're man enough to own up."

And he starts out of the kitchen, but turns before he hits the front door.

"Be careful."

I look at him now, and I know he's sincere. I also know he's talking about more than just how I go about inserting myself back into Katniss' day-to-day life. "I will." And he leaves.

* * *

It's bright – too bright. As I slowly open my eyes and realize where I am, my brain rejects the information initially, insistent that this is not where I really am. I lie motionless, staring vaguely at nothing in particular, as I try to recall the source of my certainty that I shouldn't be here.

I remember running through the forest, desperately trying to escape from creatures real and imagined. I remember waking up downstairs, angry and hurt and…the cat. I remember the cat. But nothing else comes after that until now. I do not know how I got home, or how I ended up in bed. My curiosity wanes after a moment, not really caring, either.

I begin to stir, and that's when I see him again. Buttercup, curled up at the end of my bed. I just watch him at first, not feeling anything. My mind wanders, wondering how he was able to find his way back here all the way from District 13. For a scrawny, mangy thing he certainly has shown a level of determination and scrappiness over the years that even I have to grudgingly admire.

He senses my movements and stretches, looks at me as if to say "Yeah, what?" and then jumps off the bed and out my bedroom door as if he owns the place. I sit in the bed for I'm not sure how long, not really thinking about anything, my tired mind lacking the energy or focus to begin my daily torments yet.

Fleeting images of my rampage through the forest last night flit through my mind. The despair, the feeling that I do not deserve to be wrapped in these blankets, blinking in the bright light of day, lingers like a fog in the valley on an early spring morning. I am disappointed in myself for not having the courage to meet my end in the forest, alone. But I am too drained to muster much indignation or any other emotion, really. The emptiness simply engulfs me once again.

At some point I notice my stomach growling. Persistent, loud, and annoying in its repetition. Still feeling numb and disconnected, I get up and head for the door, when I catch a glimpse of an image in my bedroom mirror. At first, I startle, convinced that there is some kind of intruder in my room. But at second glance, I realize it's only my own relfection that I don't recognize. Gaunt, pale, messy, a shadow of the person I expect to see – I do not know this person.

My hand slowly goes to my cheek, tracing the thin line of my jaw, the circles under my eyes, pushing stray hairs off my forehead. Oh, if my prep team could only see me now, they'd probably faint on sight, I think to myself. The movement brings my forearm into focus, and I notice the multiple scratches and bruises. I trace my fingers over them, and a distant, disjointed memory of branches and trees and bushes pushing against me as I made my way through the woods forms loosely.

Without realizing it, I make my way to the shower. At some point I find myself standing there, letting water run over me. I do not know how much time has passed, how long I've stood there letting the warmness envelope me, reminding me of the way strong arms used to after a nightmare. I wash my hair, my body, wincing every now and then as unseen injuries, both bodily and emotionally, protest at certain movements. But the shower feels good, and I reluctantly admit that it's been too long.

Once dressed, I head downstairs, feeling forced to quiet the incessant protests of my empty stomach. I don't hear anyone, and wonder for a moment just how late I've slept. When I come into the kitchen, however, I stop dead in my tracks.

It's there, on the table, unassuming and innocent in its presentation. I look quickly around for an explanation, but find none. I look back to the table, confused, uncertain, and then with dawning comprehension. I stare at it for a few moments, not sure of what to do. The simplicity of the item belies the deeper choice with which I am confronted. For all my lack of engagement the last few months, the message is not lost on me now.

Bread.

Two loaves, small but perfect. Waiting for me. Nothing else, no one else. Just bread.

Tear-strewn emotions threaten to overwhelm me, but, this time at least, I am able to will them to descend again. I slowly move to the table, and let my fingers caress the firm crust of one of the loaves. I chastise myself for my momentary surprise. After all, this should have been expected. Peeta is, if nothing else, fairly predictable. And the meaning of his simple but poignant gesture does not escape me.

Accept the bread, and accept him. Eat the bread, and survive. Just like so long ago. But it's not that simple, anymore, is it? It's not just a matter of starving to death, of being so hungry that I can't move anymore, of feeling so overcome by hopelessness and despair that I simply collapse against a tree, resigned to my inevitable fate.

Or is it?

I take the bread and move to the counter, halfheartedly trying to convince myself that I am not actually making a choice by doing so. But as I slice the bread and take the first few bites, I glimpse a new emotion, or at least one which I haven't felt in I don't know how long. And I wonder, as tears silently stealthily undo my earlier resolve and streak down my cheeks, if it might actually be possible for my life to be different than this non-existence that's entrapped me for so long.


	8. Fire

When the bread was finished, I went to Katniss' house to drop it off. I was a little worried about seeing her, but I was hoping that it was still early enough that she wasn't up yet. Sure enough, when I let myself in after getting no response to my knock on her front door, I could tell she was still upstairs. So, I quickly left the bread on the table and returned home.

It wasn't that I didn't want to see her. Just the opposite, actually. But I wanted to make sure I gave her the space she needed to recover from yesterday. So, I came home, finished cleaning up and then rested for a while. I was still way off schedule in terms of sleeping regularly, but I wasn't worried about it. Sleep wasn't always that restful anyway. When I woke up, I jumped in the shower, got dressed, and headed back downstairs, picking up the phone to make a call. Time to check-in with the good old doctor.

"Hello, Peeta. It's good to hear from you. How is everything going so far?"

_Great, just great_ , I think to myself. _In my first day back I managed to send Katniss into a frenzy, totally overrated my "healing" presence, endured a two-hour long episode, and have only slept a few hours since I left the Capitol_. I decide to go with the standard response.

"It's fine, I suppose."

"I see. So, why don't you tell me what's really going on, then?" Clearly, he's been working with me too long.

My initial reaction to Dr. Aurelius always seems to be cool, as if I resent having to talk with him at all. But once we get started, I actually do not mind talking with him. He's always been straight with me, and obviously I owe him a lot of thanks for the progress I've made so far. So, I tell him about everything that's transpired so far.

I begin with my idea for the bushes, and recount most of my activities from there until now. I don't go into details about what I saw last night at Katniss' house, but I do allude to the overall tenor of what she was saying. Thankfully, he doesn't press for details. When I finish with my description of the last 48 hours, he feels compelled to reiterate the warning he tried to give me right before I left his office the last time.

"Peeta, as we discussed, you are a lot farther down the road to recovery than Katniss is. As you can see from her behavior so far, you'll need to be very careful about managing your expectations in terms of how the two of you are able to interact. It may be quite some time before you can start asking her the questions you have about your past."

It takes me a second to follow what he's saying. So much had happened since I arrived here, I had practically forgotten that needing her to answer my questions was one of the reasons I had given for wanting to come back to District 12. It's pretty obvious that has moved dramatically down the priority list of things to focus on right now. But I have to be careful, I realize. I don't want to make Katniss out to sound so bad off that Dr. Aurelius decides the Capitol needs to intervene. That would ruin everything. "I know. I'm actually more concerned with just trying to get her to start taking care of herself more. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, obviously I'd like to have her start calling me, but that's probably a ways off as well. I agree with your comment that she needs to start eating more regularly, and that should be a fairly attainable goal, for you and her. Perhaps you can enlist Haymitch or Ms. Sae to start suggesting group meals – Katniss may find that more palatable than just being with you one on one. And a social setting will make it more difficult for her to skip meals entirely if left to herself."

"Okay, I'll try that. And it's just Sae, not Ms. Sae. I don't even know her last name."

"Right, just Sae then. If you can get her to start eating more, then see if she'll start taking the medication I've sent her. It really will help with her emotional stability, I think. I will keep trying to call her weekly, also. But Peeta, I feel I need to caution you. No matter how many people make an effort, unless Katniss herself decides she wants to get better, there really isn't anything the rest of us can do to help her. You need to understand that. I know you care about her, and that you have some self-interest in her status. But, you can't control her. The decision needs to come from her."

I am genuinely perplexed by his statement. Katniss has never let anyone make her decisions for her. "No one's been able to force Katniss to do anything, as far as I'm aware. Why would this be any different than anything else in her life?"

"Well, it may appear that way to you, but I suspect that Katniss may feel quite differently about that."

We chat about me for a few more minutes, about my ongoing recovery efforts, and that I may need to consider alternatives to turning to Katniss for additional progress, before we agree on a time to talk again next week and hang up. But it's his last statement about Katniss that nags me as I roam around the house aimlessly, trying to decide what to do next. Both my real and tampered memories depict Katniss as fiercely independent, a fighter who does nothing she doesn't want to do. Is it possible that I'm wrong about that? Is my impression of Katniss as an immovable force really that far off? I resist the idea that Dr. Aurelius may know her better than I do. I may have been hijacked, but he's barely spent any time with her at all.

But what if it's true, that Katniss has felt forced into things more than she's been a willing participant or even instigator? That might explain (for me, anyway) a little more about why my gesture of planting primroses in her yard backfired so spectacularly. It might also mean that I need to be very careful about just how I go about trying to guide her back to daily life and out of the slowly-wasting-away existence she's fallen into since coming home.

I'm stewing over these thoughts, frustrated that I don't have anyone to sound this out with, as I realize that there may actually be one other person who could provide insight on this. Other than the girl herself, obviously, and I smirk as I recall how out of touch she can be at times with her own understanding of herself. But there is Haymitch. The two of them are so alike, and, despite his numerous shortcomings, he has usually been able to peg her pretty accurately, as far as I can recall. He certainly did yesterday, anyway. So I decide to ask him.

I walk over to his house sometime mid-afternoon. I glance toward Katniss' place, and wave to Greasy Sae as she's headed in that direction. Good, I think. She'll be with Katniss for a little while and can keep an eye on her. I turn up Haymitch's walk and let myself inside. Not much has improved since yesterday. I make a mental note to find someone I can pay to come make his house more tolerable, if that's even possible.

"Haymitch?" I call. I'm heading toward the kitchen, listening for any sign of him. "Haymitch? Where are you?" I don't find him anywhere on the main floor, and am not looking forward to exploring the bedrooms upstairs, when I notice the back door is slightly ajar. I head outside, only to find him sitting on his back porch, flask in one hand, bits of bread in another, and a group of goslings gathered at his feet. At first glance, it's hard to tell exactly which one he's feeding to the birds.

"Haymitch? What are you doing? Where did these goslings come from?" I am instantly amused by the sight of this cranky old man trying to feed a bunch of noisy, dirty baby birds.

"Beats the hell outta me. They just showed up here a while back, and I can't seem to get rid of 'em. Remind me of you two."

Charming, as always. I sit down next to him on the porch. "So, have you checked on Katniss today?" No point beating around the bush.

"What do I look like, a babysitter? Besides, I wouldn't want to give you any…competition," he smirks.

Ugh. There's a revolting thought. I recognize the bait for what it is, though, and don't bite. He continues, "Why? You finally grown a set big enough so's you can tell me about your little plan?" He laughs at his own attempt at wit.

Oh, he's in rare form today. Opting not to acknowledge this last remark, I decide to try to engage him in my old game as a way to get the info I'm looking for. He played it with me a few times in the Capitol, after the rebellion ended but before that fateful day when all hell broke loose again thanks to the Mockingjay. So, I don't waste time telling him what I want. "Katniss has always been stubborn, determined, and independent in her thinking. Real or not real?"

He looks at me quizzically, the same look I've seen him use a few times when playing chess, as I recall, when he's mentally moving about ten steps ahead in the game. Then he takes a swig from his flask, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and answers.

"Real," he says, turning back to the geese.

"She never responds well to being told what to do."

There it is again. That look that screams _"How big an idiot are you?"_

"Okay, fine. Real. She makes her own choices." I pause before continuing with what is really nagging at me. "No one forces her to do anything she doesn't want to do."

He doesn't reply to this one. I wait, impatiently, for some kind of response, but he is silent, not even insulting me with his glare.

"What the hell are you trying to ask me, kid?" He takes another drink. Guess he didn't like the game after all.

I sigh. Fine, we'll take the direct route today. "My memories of Katniss all tell me that she won't be forced into doing anything. No one tells her what to do, or can coerce her into decisions. But I don't know how reliable these memories, or my overall perception because of them, are. I need you to tell me if it's real or not."

He keeps tossing food to the birds, and we sit next to each other, not saying anything for a couple of minutes. I don't sense he's angry or annoyed, but he's clearly not happy either. I'm trying to figure out what I'm seeing in him when he finally speaks again.

"Look, that girl has more gumption than all the rebels who fought to bring down the Capitol combined. But everybody has their weak spots, kid. And she's no different. So yea, she's been forced into doin' stuff she didn't wanna do, just like the rest of us. Don't be a fool. But you already knew that. The reason you've _forgotten_ , is 'cause you just don't like to remember that you were part of it."

Ouch. I am shocked into silence. I have no memories of ever forcing Katniss Everdeen to do anything. What is he talking about? "Haymitch, I…"

"Come on, kid. The romance, the pregnancy, your mission in the Capitol, hell, even you showin' up back here. There have been at least a few times that decisions you've made have forced her hand, sent her in a direction she didn't wanna go. But don't worry – you're not alone. There are plenty of us in that camp."

As he talks, a new understanding of Dr. Aurelius' comment begins to dawn for me, coupled with the recognition of regret as the feeling I couldn't immediately read on my mentor's face. I'm still trying to catch up with him mentally as he continues.

"Between you, me, her momma, Cinna, Coin, Heavensbee, and Snow, that girl hasn't had much of a choice about the direction her life took for years. At least, not until she really took matters into her own hands and killed Coin. But can't say as I wouldn'a done the exact same thing in her place."

I am growing angry now, not a good place for me to be. For him to compare Mrs. Everdeen, Cinna, himself, and me, all people who loved or cared for her, with Coin and Snow, especially when it comes to how we've affected Katniss, is more than my fragile semblance of sanity can tolerate. Haymitch, of course, senses this, even before I do, probably.

I start to protest – "Haymitch, how can you even…" but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand, shaking his head.

"'Course you, you're different, as if you didn't already know that, too. You may have backed her into a couple corners, but you had somethin' nobody else had. Somethin' that probably made it even harder on her, in some ways."

I'm waiting for him to name it, but apparently he's decided that's not necessary. He just gives a little laugh, shaking his head at me, as I sit there, dumbfounded.

"And what, exactly, was that?" I am struggling to maintain an even keel at this point. I do not want to lapse into an episode right now, not in front of him, not before I get some answers to this unbelievably absurd accusation.

"Hmmph. You had the one thing nobody else has ever had, the thing she swore to herself she would never give away. Hell, she never really understood that you had it either, kid. That's how holed up in her own head that girl's been, way before any of this even happened." He looks at me now, clearly waiting for comprehension to dawn on my face. It doesn't, so he finishes drawing the picture for me, again adopting that tone of his as if he's talking to a very small child. "You had her heart, boy, and even she didn't really know it."

Stunned, I sit there, mindlessly watching the birds waddle around, jerkily picking up scraps that Haymitch continues to toss in their direction. Dismay, anger and shock course through my veins, delivering a sudden and severe headache. I don't even attempt to respond to what he's said – I wouldn't know where to begin. He just sits there, feeding the geese, drinking from his flask, waiting for me to process all this.

Immediately, I start trying to discount everything he's said. I reiterate, strongly, to myself that I never forced Katniss into anything. But, I can't ignore the sick feeling I get when I think about the interview before our first games, or the shocking announcement I made before the Quarter Quell. My agreeing to go to the Capitol and join the Star Squad. My decision to return here after my visit with Gale. I begrudgingly see these things in a new light now that Haymitch has cast such unfavorable aspersions on them. Obviously, I never intended to "back her into a corner" as he so eloquently put it – I was trying to save her, I'm almost sure. Well, maybe not the mission. Even I have to wonder what my true motives there were. But regardless, clearly she never got a vote in any of those circumstances.

But even as my seriously overloaded mind is trying to comprehend all of this, I stumble back to and become mired in his last statement. _I had her heart._ The range of emotions this statement elicits in me threatens to force my last meal into reappearing. Clearly this is just speculation on his part. She never _told_ him that. Maybe he's just toying with me, teasing me in the most cruel way because he knows he can. Either way, he made it abundantly clear that was past tense – even if by some completely bizarre miracle that, or some semblance of it, had been true, obviously it is no longer. Too much has happened, and too many wounds have been inflicted for it to still be so.

But oh, if it could be. If it were once, why not again? What if, through all of this that we've suffered together, through everything we've survived and endured, we could get back to that one state of being? Is that what I want? Is that why I came back? Have I just been fooling myself with all these other distractions about my reasons for coming here? Is it more than just need? Do I still love her? Do I want her to love me?

STOP! I scream in my head and silence the questioning voices that are assuaging my senses. This is not where I need to be right now. This is a dangerous path, and he had no right to take me here.

"Haymitch, I don't know what kind of twisted game you're playing, but stop. Katniss is not some helpless victim who has been at the mercy of every person she's encountered for the last few years. And how dare you compare the people who loved her, protected her, and even _died_ for her to the evil manipulators who used her and tortured her. That's low, Haymitch, even for you."

He just looks at me now, not saying anything. After a bit, he takes another drink, and starts to slowly pull himself up off the steps. I'm hesitant to leave it like this, though I'm still reeling at his comments. So before he goes, I try to give it one more shot, hoping we can salvage something productive out of this conversation.

"I'm going to help her, with or without you. I hope it's with. I know you care about her. I do, as well. But she needs us to not screw this up, Haymitch. You said yourself, we need to be careful, and we need to reach her. We have to help her find herself again, find her fire again."

At this he sadly shakes his head.

"No kid, that's where you're wrong. She hasn't lost her fire. Fire under the best of circumstances is dangerous. Uncontrolled, untamed, unfocused, it just consumes everything in its path. You want to help her? Then give her fire something to feed on other than herself."

He gets up and goes inside, closing and bolting the door behind him.

* * *


	9. Hello

Greasy Sae lets herself in later that afternoon, nodding to me as she passes through to the kitchen. I follow after her, immediately feeling awkward about my behavior, or lack thereof, yesterday morning, not to mention all the weeks preceding that.

"Hi, Sae."

She looks at me, not only sizing me up, but I can only assume my mood as well, before she replies, "Good to see you up and about for a change."

"Thanks. I'm sorry, you know, about yesterday."

"Not to worry. I figured tweren't really about me, anyways." And now she looks at me with that knowing grin she has, that all older women seem to have, and just turns around and goes about making me dinner. "Been out today?" she asks.

"Uh, no. Just didn't feel like it."

"Hmmm. Those new bushes look mighty pretty, you know. Smell good, too."

It's an innocuous comment, but something tells me she's talking about more than primroses. I'm really not ready to hear her thoughts on the matter yet, so I try to change the subject.

"I want to thank you. You know, for taking care of me. I know I haven't been very good to you, haven't made your job very easy. But, I wanted you to know that I appreciate the effort you've made."

I finish, having said more than I've probably said to her the entire time I've been back in District 12. I'm not looking at her, already uncomfortable with what I consider to be an overly dramatic show of affection. But I look up as I hear her come towards me.

"Honey, you ain't got nothin' to apologize to me for. Cookin' for you, and keepin' the house tidy, is the least I can do for you, all things considered."

My face must be broadcasting the confusion I feel over her sentiment, because she chuckles and shakes her head at me.

"Girl, you's so mixed up you don' know up from down, good from bad. Not surprisin', after all that's happened to you. I'm just glad to see you finally comin' outta that funk you been in. You deserve better." And with that, she begins her efforts at dinner in earnest. I stand there dumbstruck for a few seconds, processing her words over and over.

_I deserve better?_ Hardly, I think to myself. I have a big house, people who meet my basic needs, more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime, and I'm still alive. But at what cost? How many people died instead of or because of me? How many suffered unmentionable fates due to my recklessness? No, I don't deserve any of this.

And yet people keep telling me differently. As I make my way back to the couch in the living room, I am pestered by the comments and actions of the last couple of days. Peeta coming back to 12, planting bushes for Prim in my yard. Someone, and I think I know who, pulling me out of the forest and bringing me home again. Sae's comments just now. Why are these people bothering with me? Why won't they just let me fade away? My mother, Gale and most of Panem have certainly left me alone. It would be so much easier if everyone followed their lead. The fact that they haven't is both irritating and, though I hate to even acknowledge it, encouraging at the same time. I don't want to be encouraged – I want confirmation that my slow descent into nothingness is the right path. That's why I was exiled here, right? They may not have been able to execute the Mockingjay, but they could certainly let her slip away quietly, couldn't they?

Sae hands me a cup of tea, one eyebrow raised questioningly at the scowl on my face. But she doesn't ask, and I don't offer, and she returns to the kitchen, doing whatever it is she does to make food appear with startling regularity. I sit brooding in my own thoughts, sipping tea, vaguely aware of her humming as she works. I must set down the cup and drift off at some point, because the next thing I know a familiar voice is calling my name.

"Katniss?"

I open my eyes and he's there, standing a few feet away from me, tentative in his greeting. As the room, and he along with it, comes into focus, I am unconsciously and immediately drawn to his eyes. They are the clear, deep blue I remember, the ones that seem to combine the calm of the sky and the depth of the ocean all at the same time. They are looking right at me, beseeching, concerned. There is no trace of any darkness, any alter-ego that might be luring me into a trap again. No, they are his eyes – the ones I used to associate with comfort, strength, hope, even….NO! _Snap out of it_ , I tell myself. That was a long, long time ago, and now at the top of the list of things I most definitely do not deserve.

I look at him but don't say anything. I am waiting for my flight instinct to resurrect itself and send me bolting from the room. And as I rouse myself further, I do become aware of an uneasiness awakening within me as well, as if one of my senses, but it does not grow into the fear I had the other night. Now it feels more like walking through new hunting territory, unfamiliar with the ground I'm treading, not wanting to make a sound lest I alert unseen predators to my presence.

"Hi. I'm sorry if I woke you. Sae let me in."

I make a mental note to review do's and don'ts with her later.

"It's fine." I'm averting my gaze at this point, reaching for my still-warm cup of tea, suddenly fascinated with the fraying cloth on the end of the arm of the couch. I do not want to look him in the eyes, the memories are too unpredictable, and I hate surprises. Especially when they're a result of my own feelings.

"So, I was wondering if it would be okay if I brought some bread over each morning? I'm really enjoying getting to bake again, but don't have anyone to bake for now. I was hoping you might like to have some each day."

This is strange. He hadn't bothered to ask this morning before dropping off those two loaves, which I haven't even finished yet. And since when did Peeta ask if anyone wanted bread? Maybe this _is_ a trap.

"You didn't ask this morning," I say without looking up.

I can see his legs shift uncomfortably as I say it, which tells me he knows what I'm talking about. It occurs to me, briefly, that I'm not being very nice to Peeta. I haven't really welcomed him back, or even properly greeted him since he returned. Effie would be appalled. I don't really understand why I'm being like this – after all, I treated him better in the Capitol when he was still trying to kill me. But right now I barely have the fortitude to keep up this level of conversation, much less pretend to be some kind of welcoming committee. Besides, he doesn't seem to expect more out of me anyway.

"True. But I'm asking now."

So much for explanations. Besides, it's probably better that we not talk much anyway. He's acting very peculiar. Who could blame him? I'm amazed he's talking with me at all. However, I'm not looking to keep him here any longer than absolutely necessary. I prefer my solitude. If he wants to drop off bread for me to nibble on in my isolated exile, who am I to stop him? I glance at him, though, just to see if I can figure out whether this is some kind of joke or something, but he wears the same expression since he called my name – concerned trepidation.

"Okay. If you want."

And then I see it, just for a split second, the faintest hint of a smile, but he's banished it before it was even there.

"Great. Well, have a good night, then." And with that, he turns for the door, calls a quick goodbye to Sae, who I realize has not been humming this entire time, and walks out of the house. I sit there, staring after him, feeling relief and disappointment in equal measure. What in the world is that boy up to? My survival instincts have not completely disappeared, and are now raising the alarm. But all this…interacting has taken a toll on me after so many long days of just rocking my life away by the fire. I am tired. Too tired to chase after secret intentions and hidden agendas, or to expend any more energy on thinking today. I drag myself up the stairs, collapse into my bed, and tell myself I can figure it out tomorrow.

* * *

As I leave her house, I let out a long, slow breath. I walk back to my porch, sit on the steps for a good while, and only go inside when I'm satisfied Katniss is not repeating her performance and running from the house in a panic again. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and wander around my house, not seeing where I'm going, not turning on the lights as the day wanes. Instead, I am replaying our exchange over and over, analyzing everything I can, and find myself mesmerized in ways I did not expect.

She is so beautiful.

Even in her diminished, sorrowful state, she is amazingly appealing. I had forgotten. With all the distance, both emotional and physical, that had come between us, with all the tampering Snow had done with my mind, with everything that had gotten in the way of my just _remembering_ , I had forgotten it. The effect that she has on me. That she's always had, and never seems to be aware of herself. Which, of course, just makes her all the more enticing. Seeing her in the daylight for the first time just now brings to the forefront of my brain, and probably other parts I don't want to acknowledge, just how attracted to her I am. Her wavy hair, her small hands, her smooth skin, her chapped lips, her petite frame, her curves. I recreate her image in every detail, basking in its beauty, and already planning how to bring it to life on one of my canvases.

Suddenly, I feel like I'm 10 years old again, with feelings that are too big for my britches, and a crush on a girl who doesn't even know I exist. Well, obviously that's not accurate anymore, but on one level it still applies. She doesn't know who _this_ Peeta is. I struggle with that question myself almost daily. But I admonish myself for letting my mind wander in this direction. These thoughts are not going to help either of us. Too much has transpired. I can't just pretend that the last two years haven't happened, nor can I expect her to just pick up where we left off – which was where, exactly, anyway?

I forcibly shake my head, trying to clear away the confusing thoughts. This won't do. This is how plans get derailed. If I am going to succeed in helping her find her way back to the world of the living, then I have to let go of these distractions and stay focused on the basics. I rummage through my drawers and find paper and pencil, turn on a light, then sit down at the kitchen table. This time, I'm going to write down the list so I don't forget anything and I don't get sidetracked.

1\. Eating

2\. Talking

3\. Hunting

4\. Bathing

5\. Sleeping

Certainly not an impressive list of accomplishments under normal circumstances, but Katniss Everdeen is about as far from normal circumstances as anyone could get. I decide if I can work on getting the first couple of items back on track for her, then I can worry about the rest later. But it's helpful to have goals and the rough outline of a plan, at least. If nothing else, I can also use this list to remind myself of the things I am _not_ supposed to be focusing on.

I tuck the list away in a safe spot and make myself a light dinner. It is dark out now, and I sit outside, watching the lightening bugs blink, the stars twinkle, and bats fly gracefully above. I hear an owl hoot, crickets chirp, and someone's dog bark off in the distance. It's cool, but not cold, and I allow myself to just take in the sights and sounds around me, truly soaking in the atmosphere of District 12 for the first time since I have come back. Come home. It is soothing, and peaceful. I think about how strikingly different it is from the Capitol, as if the two places could never really coexist given their disparity.

I see Greasy Sae leave Katniss' house and start to walk home. I bound off my porch and jog to catch up to her, calling her name to get her attention. She stops and turns at my voice, and I see a smile brighten her face. It's nice to have at least one person who always seems happy to see me.

"Sae, I wanted to ask you something. Well, two things, actually. First, were you the one who left that box of supplies on my kitchen counter?"

"Yea, I figured you might be needin' a few things to tide you over, so I dropped 'em off for you, just 'til you can get yer own stuff. Hope you were able to use it."

"Sae, that was very thoughtful of you. I really appreciate it, and want to thank you for thinking of me. I definitely used what you left, and would be happy to replace it for you if you'd like."

"No, no, nonsense. Just a simple welcome home gift."

"Well, in that case, thank you again. And I plan to return the favor by baking you some bread as soon as I get some additional supplies. I know I can order things from the Capitol now, but is there anywhere in town to pick up some items?"

"Oh sure, it ain't much, but Nigel Landry's got a small market in the town square now. I can show you if you'd like."

"Thanks, Sae. That would be great. Maybe we can walk to town together tomorrow. There was one other thing I wanted to ask you if you've got a minute, though."

"Well, Sadie's waitin' for me at home, but sure, what else you need?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you make breakfast for Katniss every day. I'd like to bring bread over for her, if that's okay, and I was hoping that, if it isn't too much trouble, we might all eat together."

She looks at me now, a grin on her face still, but a sadness has crept into her eyes as she responds. "Yea, I make it, but she don't always eat it. Girl's skinnier than a raccoon comin' outta hibernation at the end of winter."

I can tell from her tone that she's both worried and frustrated. Greasy Sae is not one to mope around or waste away, and has probably seen more than her fair share of kids fall victim to starvation. I sense a partner in crime in getting the first item on my list checked off.

"Well, if you're willing, I'm hoping we can work together to get Katniss to start eating a little more each day. I'd like to try, anyway."

And with that, her face lights up again in a full-fledged smile. "Well, then. I'll see ya bright and early tomorrow mornin'." And she pats my arm, and turns to walk off. I call goodbye, and she just waves without turning around. I head back to my porch and sit down, content that I have enlisted my first ally.

I return to my porch, letting my mixed emotions from the day pour over me and swirl in my head, much the way colors of a new painting do before they sort themselves out enough for me to put brush to canvas. My conversation with Haymitch was disturbing, and I'm still peeved with him about some of the things he said or implied. But, equally distressing, is that I cannot simply dismiss his comments as the rantings of a cynical, old drunk. Alcohol seems to almost improve his lucidity and analytical abilities at times. Like it or not, I resentfully allow for the fact that the reason I may have been so upset by what he said is that he struck a nerve of truth I didn't see, or didn't want to see, before.

But the residual negatives from that encounter are quickly replaced by guarded optimism as my mind wanders once again to my short conversation with Katniss. Not exactly the heartwarming welcome home a part of me may have been secretly wishing for, but it was a far cry from the reaction I evoked in her yesterday morning when she saw me planting the primroses. At least that's something. And the prospect of breakfast at her house with her and Sae, and if I start feeling generous again someday, maybe even Haymitch, is definitely something to look forward to.

I don't know how long I have been out here, just letting my thoughts ramble of their own accord, when I am jarred by a sound that clearly doesn't belong. At first I can't place it right away – it is so disjointed from my surroundings, though eerily familiar. But then, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that quickly spreads outward, I recognize it. Her nightmares once again have her in their grasp. I sit up, but don't move out of my chair. Chills run down my spine, and all my hairs seem to stand at attention. I close my eyes, silently willing the unnerving noise to stop, hoping that she will wake herself so the quiet night can return. With each wrenching scream I glimpse another fleeting image of horror myself, mostly from my hijacking. I am beginning to worry about slipping into an episode when mercifully the sounds cease, and I know she is awake again. Only then can I get up and go inside my own house. I realize heading to bed will be pointless after having heard her and seen my own terrors, so I head to my studio instead, resigning myself to attempt to purge the images her screams have conjured for me by painting for a few hours. As I sit down in front of the canvas and pick up my brush, I consider moving sleeping up on the list of priorities.


	10. Surprises

Having tumbled out of my nightmare around midnight, I had made my way downstairs, finding the dinner Sae had left for me earlier in the evening. It was some kind of pork and rice dish, and I ate about half of it, numbly sitting at the kitchen table, willing the hands on the clock to move faster so night would end. Around 2 am I had returned to my rocking chair by the fire in the living room, wrapping myself in a blanket, pulling my legs up close, and somehow managing to lull myself back to a fitful sleep for a few hours. It was not an unfamiliar routine. Sae looked surprised, and mildly disappointed, when she spotted me in my usual place upon her arrival that morning. I made my way upstairs, debating whether to crawl back into bed or face the day and shower. It was still a toss-up as I stood here in my bedroom, unable to make even this simple decision, when I hear my front door open and close again. Curious as to whether Sae had just left abruptly, I go to the top of the stairs, but stop short when I hear voices in the kitchen. Sae hasn't left. Peeta has come in. My brain quickly accesses the conversation from yesterday evening, reminding me that he had said he would bring bread over. I pause, expecting him to just drop off the fresh loaf and leave, as he did the day before. But after a couple minutes of ongoing conversation, I hear a chair scrape the floor as one of them – Peeta, no doubt – sits at the table.

I back away from the steps, retreat into my room and gently close the door. Why is he still here? What is he doing? I frantically replay the exchange from last night, trying to recall whether or not I agreed to let him stay for breakfast, whether I had even extended the invitation myself. But I do not remember that as part of the deal. Yet here he is, in my house, chatting with Sae as if everything is…normal. I roll my eyes at that thought – even under the worst of circumstances during the games, Peeta had been able to banter back and forth with Ceasar as if everything that was happening was just run-of-the-mill routine. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that he is able to talk with Sae as if nothing is out of the ordinary now.

Abandoning all thoughts of going back to bed, I head for the bathroom. One look in the mirror confirms that I need to shower. Not that I am trying to impress him, I tell myself. But I will not have him staring at me as if I am some wild animal in my own house, either. I shower quickly, washing and rinsing my hair, giving my body a cursory scrub, and wrapping myself in a towel as I braid my wet hair. I pull a t-shirt and pants on, strap on my hunting boots, and head downstairs.

As I suspected, Peeta is seated at the table while Greasy Sae is living up to her name over the stove. Apparently, she has decided to pull out all the stops this morning in honor of our new guest. She is frying bacon, eggs are already on the table, along with a bowl of berries – where did _those_ come from, I wonder – and Peeta is slicing and toasting some of the bread he's baked. There is even orange juice, a rare delicacy, and one of my favorites. Something is definitely up. I walk into the kitchen, frowning as I try to fit the pieces of this puzzle together in my head, and catch Peeta's eye as he looks up. He smiles, that genuine, easy-going smile that at one point in my short life had made me feel so welcomed, warm and almost carefree. Now, it makes me feel apprehensive and wary. Oh, how things have changed, I think to myself.

"Good morning, Katniss. I hope you don't mind – Sae said it would be okay if I joined you for breakfast."

This is becoming quite a habit, I think, Sae making decisions on my behalf. But she doesn't turn around for me to give her the look I am sorely sending in her direction right now. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta smirk a bit – he's seen it, but seems more amused than dismayed by my disapproval. I wipe my face of any revealing emotion and simply shrug my shoulders at him, indicating that I don't care one way or the other. Which I don't, I keep telling myself. His look lingers on me for just a moment more, and then he turns back to the task at hand of slicing, toasting and buttering the bread, stacking it in a neat pile on the plate. I sit down at one of the three plates set out already, and wait. Peeta starts talking with Sae again, asking about what's going on in town, who's come back to the District, and especially about her granddaughter, Sadie. It occurs to me that I've only seen Sadie once or twice, despite Sae being here almost every day. I just sit quietly, only half-listening to the two of them carrying on, watching Sae finish up at the stove, trying to hold myself together and not start ranting and raving at the ludicrous way they are acting, as if everything in the world is just as it should be.

"What do you say, Katniss?" Peeta is asking me a question, and I have no idea about what.

"What?" I look at him bewildered, and he smiles a knowing smile at me.

"Sae and I are going to walk into town after breakfast. We were wondering if you wanted to come along."

"Oh. No, thanks."

"Okay. Maybe another time, then." He doesn't convey disappointment or relief, just says it matter-of-factly.

Sae brings over the plate of bacon, and we all serve ourselves some food. It smells inviting, but as I start to put eggs and bacon on my plate, my stomach revolts. I haven't eaten much in weeks, months even. And while this spread may be quite the temptation, my stomach is not ready to indulge. I take only a small amount of what's passed to me. Peeta and Sae both serve themselves good-sized portions, and dig in as if we were sitting down to a Capitol feast and food were as bountiful as bunny rabbits in springtime. I lose even more of my appetite. Peeta and Sae resume their conversation, talking comfortably with one another, not excluding me, but not expecting my participation either. They both eat everything on their plates, and their looks at mine do not go unnoticed. I take a few bites, but mostly just push the food around with my fork, vacillating between feeling calmed by the pedestrian conversation around me, and wanting to scream at the two of them to shut up and leave me alone. As the meal finishes, the two of them get up, clear the table and do the dishes. I sit there, wanting to help, but unsure about intruding on their comfortableness. So, I just stay at the table, toying with the spoon in the sugar bowl. Suddenly, a small purple pill appears in front of me. I look up, and Peeta is standing next to me.

"Dr. Aurelius asked me to give that to you. They really do help, Katniss. You might want to start taking them."

My blood boils rapidly as I look from Peeta to the pill and back again. Without breaking eye contact, without saying a word, I pick up the pill, stand up, walk to the back door, and fling the pill out into the yard as far as it will go. Peeta just watches, not trying to stop me, not even protesting about how expensive the medicine might be. I slam the door, walk out of the kitchen, and head back upstairs. So much for breakfast.

* * *

Things had been going so well. Katniss had joined us for breakfast, and while she didn't appear thrilled to have company, she at least went through the motions of sitting and looking as if she were eating. I tried to be discreet, but watched closely to see how much she actually consumed. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Sae and I had a good meal, though, and talking with her was relaxed and comfortable. Different from the interviews I had done with Ceasar, but Sae held up her end of the conversation easily enough. After trying to talk with either Katniss or Haymitch, it was downright pleasant to have someone who could actually interact normally with me for a change.

But then I had to go too far. Katniss had seemed calm, open to company, even as if she were trying to engage. True, she had declined our invitation to leave the house and head to town, but at least she had stayed with us through the meal, and hadn't immediately taken off as we were cleaning up, either. I took those as good signs, and of course, read too much into them. I remembered Dr. Aurelius' comment about the medicine he had sent helping Katniss weather her churning emotions a little more easily. I had seen the bottle of pills as I was helping Sae prepare breakfast, before Katniss even came down. Once again, I acted on the spur of the moment, and decided to just give Katniss the option of taking one. At least I had the sense not to argue with her as I watched her throw it out into the yard. She certainly does like to make a point, I thought to myself.

We didn't see her after that, of course. Once Sae and I had finished cleaning up the kitchen, we both headed out the front door and toward the town. I was nervous, but was counting on Sae's presence and ongoing narration about all things District 12 to keep me sufficiently distracted and calm.

"It sure don't look like it used to, that's fer sure. But, folks is comin' back, little by little. So far, we've got Nigel's market and the shoemaker, but I heard a rumor the other day that Rooba, the butcher, is on her way from 13 too. 'Course, Ripper is still here – don't think Haymitch could stand to be here otherwise! And they's doin' a good job of clearin' the rubble and debris, makin' room for new shops and buildin's and such. In fact, some folks are even talkin' 'bout startin' up the Hob again – not in the same place, mind you. And I s'pose now it'll be all legal and everythin'. I was thinkin', once that girl is back on her feet, of course, that I might open up my old stall again. I sure did like sittin' and talkin' with folks while they ate."

Sae has kept up a steady stream of news, gossip and her own musings since we left Victor's Village. I'm grateful, as the morning with Katniss has been more of a strain than I anticipated. That, and I can feel myself getting more and more antsy as we get closer to town, to the square, to my old life. To the place where my family was obliterated by the Capitol's bombs. Sae doesn't seem to notice my increasing anxiety, but I can feel my palms starting to sweat, my heart beating faster, my eyes darting side to side. I know I have to get this over with – I can't avoid town forever, staying cooped up in my house in Victor's Village. I don't want to do this by myself, and Katniss is clearly not an option for company right now. It might be better to have Haymitch with me, but Sae has been so helpful and welcoming, and I know she wants to show me the market so I can get the supplies I need to really start baking again. So I force myself to stay calm, to listen to whatever it is she's rambling on about now. I lengthen my breaths, try to look down more than around, and focus on the prospect of kneading about 50 lbs of dough as soon as I buy what I need and can get home again.

But apparently, that isn't how my day is going to go. When I look up again, it's there – staring me down, not 20 feet from where I stand. The remnants of my old home. My father's bakery, my former house, my family's ghosts. The foundation is still there, and I can make out a piece of countertop, an oven door, and a cracked mixing bowl among the shattered glass and bent pipes. Looking past the ruins, I even see what I think is a stump, exactly where the old apple tree used to stand. Everything, absolutely every inch and crevice, is covered in a fine layer of ash. It's gray - dark, dull gray. The color of death.

I'm frozen, at least on the outside. Sae notices that I'm no longer keeping pace with her, and stops a few steps ahead of me, turning to look at me. But I don't see her. Unfortunately, what I see isn't really there at all. Smoke, fire, people running, flying bits of brick, wood and glass. Shouting, screaming and the buzz of hovercraft flying above us. And her, Katniss, watching me, laughing. As I quickly begin to slip away, rapidly losing my grip on the here and now, I manage to get out the only thing I can think to say that might be able to prevent this entire day from going very, very wrong.

"Get Haymitch. Now." My appearance and dramatically altered tone of voice are apparently more than sufficient to convey to Sae the urgency of the situation. The last thing I see, before the shroud of confusion and deceit envelopes me, is Sae moving swiftly back the way we came, toward Victor's Village. But even as I see her go, I know it will be too late.

* * *

Someone is making way too much noise for this hour of the day. Whatever hour that may be. The banging on my door is loud enough to wake the dead, which is of course what it takes to rouse me and what the person on the other side of that obstacle is about to be when I finish with them. I stumble my way to the barrier, somehow manage to find the deadbolt, and yank the door open as I shout at the moron who clearly doesn't know who they are dealing with, "I've killed before, and I'm about to do it again!"

The light is blinding, so it takes my eyes a minute to adjust and make out the short, heaving form on the other side of the door. Greasy Sae has her arm up, about to pound on the non-existent door again, frantically looking between the street behind her and my entryway. She's more agitated than I've ever seen her, including that time Darius swatted her on the behind when her back was turned, then hightailed it outta the Hob with a turkey leg he swiped from her counter. Only she's breathin' so hard I can't hardly make out what the trouble is that's got her so worked up.

"Calm down, sweetheart. The Peacekeepers are gone, the rebellion's over, and you're gonna give yourself, or worse me, a heart attack if you keep up all this racket. What's the fuss?"

"HAYMITCH! You old drunk. Peeta's in trouble. He's in the square, at the old bakery, and somethin' is VERY WRONG. He told me to come git you, and you need to git down there right quick!"

Shit. There goes my morning. She may not understand what's going on, but I'm pretty damn sure I have a good idea. Shoulda known this would happen. It was bound to, sooner or later. I was counting on later. At least it doesn't sound like he's hurt anybody. Yet.

"Anybody else with him?" I'm looking for my other shoe.

"No, he's alone. Wasn't nobody there when I left him."

"Ok. Sae, do exactly what I say. I'll explain later. I want you to go to Katniss' house, lock all the doors, pull the shades, and do NOT let Peeta in that house. You got that?"

"What? _Her_ house? Why in the…"

"SAE! I do not have time to discuss this. I need you to do this, right now. And no matter what happens, do not let her leave that house, and do not let him in! Got it?"

She looks at me, fear showing up in her eyes for the first time that I can ever recall. I grab her shoulders as I move past her in the doorway and lower my voice a bit. "It'll be alright, Sae. Just do what I said. I'll be back in a bit."

She nods, and we leave my porch together, her headed towards Katniss' place, and me headed for the town. It occurs to me I should have grabbed some kind of weapon or club or something, but it's too late to go back now. I'll just have to improvise.

I could make it to town a bit faster if I jogged, but I know I'm going to need all the energy and strength I can muster to take the kid down if it comes to that. So I use my brisk walk to strategize about the best approach once I get there. That lasts all of about two seconds, as I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to wing it once I see what I'm actually dealin' with. Not as if I haven't seen the kid flipped out before – seen it more than I care to remember, actually. But it's not always the same. I'm hopin' this is the milder variety, but based on Sae's reaction and the amount of time that's already passed, I'm doubtful I'll be so lucky. As I get to the outskirts of town I see Thom, one of the foremen in charge of demolition now, rebuilding soon enough. I call out to him and his buddy – Zullo, I think he says – and ask them to tag along. I'm kinda vague about what the problem is, but I tell them enough to convey that I may need some help restraining the kid if talking to him doesn't get me anywhere. I know he'll be embarrassed that people he doesn't even know may get pulled into this, but I also know that the kid's a lot stronger than I am, and if it's bad enough, he wouldn't want me to take the chance that he gets past me – gets to her. Sae's a tough old broad, but no match for this Capitol-bred asshole. I just hope I can keep his attention on me long enough to subdue him. If I can't distract him from his warped, Capitol-implanted fixations on destroying her, I run the risk of him getting away from us, and then it's a whole new level of problem.

As we come up on the square, I motion for Thom and Zullo to head around the long way, and come up on the other side. Don't want to spook him about being ganged up on and have him run off in the wrong direction. I'm really not up for a race around town today. I watch him as I approach. He's standin' in front of the burned out bakery, not moving. But I can hear him mumblin' as I get closer, and it sure doesn't sound like the star-crossed loverboy doin' the talkin'. I don't relish the idea of antagonizing him, but I need him to engage with me and disrupt his focus on her as quick as I can.

"So, kid, how's that trip down memory lane workin' out for ya?"

He stops talkin' to himself but doesn't turn around right away. I see his fists clench by his sides, and start scanning the immediate area for anything I can use to defend myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Thom and Zullo watchin' us, givin' us a wide berth, but heading toward the other side of the square. They'll be able to come up on him from behind if I can just get him to face me and keep him distracted for a couple of minutes.

"Or did your date stand you up again?" That does it.

He turns toward me, with a vicious sneer plastered on that normally friendly and youthful face. It is a revolting sight. "Where is she, Haymitch? Where's the little mutt?" His voice sounds more like the growl of a rabid dog than an 18-year-old kid. If I could kill all those Capitol bastards again, I would.

"She ain't here, Peeta. And she ain't a mutt, either."

"SHE did this! That wench! She massacred my family! The whore slept with me, killed the baby, and then killed everyone I ever cared about! She's a mutt, and a slut, and I am gonna rip her apart with my bare hands!"

"Woah, there, loverboy. That approach is _definitely_ not gonna get you laid. Might wanna rethink your tactics there, handsome."

He takes a menacing step toward me, but I don't back away. Thom and Zullo are closer, and if I can just hold his attention for another 30 seconds, they'll be able to grab him from behind. I'm rapidly trying to figure out what the hell happens then, but need to keep him focused on me just a bit longer.

"You're protecting her, aren't you? You were in on it with her! That's why you left me in the arena! That's why she made it out and I got sent to hell and back. You filthy, no-good traitor!"

"Love you too, kid. Now, wha'dya say we go find us some little blue pills for you and white liquor for me and make a day of it? Hmmm?"

He's about to lunge for me, which I'm pretty sure I could deflect since he ain't being so subtle about it, but thankfully Thom and Zullo have made their way just up behind him and grab each of his arms from behind, holding him in place. This sends him over the deep end, of course, as if he wasn't already in a rage. I quickly look around the square for the least offensive but most effective object I can find when I spot it – a 2x4 about a foot long. I walk over and pick it up, then head back to where they're struggling to keep him in place. He's snarling at me, literally snarling, and I wonder for just a minute if it was such a good idea for him to come back here after all. But I let that thought go as I position myself to do what's gotta be done.

"Sorry, kid, but this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me." One strike, and he falls limp between them. He'll be out for a while, and wake up with a whopper of a headache, but at least the show's over and he'll be back to his sweet, conciliatory, amicable self. And the most pathetic part of all – he'll be thanking me as if I did him a favor.

* * *


	11. Games

Thom and Zullo are looking at the kid like he's got three heads, then turn to me, clearly asking for an explanation. "Thanks, guys. Don't worry – he'll be back to his usual cheery self when he wakes up. Remnants of some of his time in the Capitol after the Quarter Quell, unfortunately. They really messed with his head." They don't fully understand, but I don't want to go into any more detail. I ask them to carry Peeta back to his house for me while I head to the girl's place to let Sae know everything is okay now. I opt for the back door, betting that Sae will be in the kitchen but the girl won't. Sure enough, I am able to quietly reassure Sae and tell her she can go about her day without encountering Katniss. I definitely do not need that headache on top of the one already waiting for me across the street.

I stop by my house before heading back to the kid. There is no way I'm waiting for him to wake up, or recapping the morning's events for him, without a drink. I grab a couple of bottles, just in case, and then let myself into his house. He's sprawled out on the sofa, still unconscious. I walk over toward him, not too close in case he wakes up – don't want to send him right back into it again – and satisfy myself that he's as okay as can be. Then I settle in the chair across the room, reward myself with a nice long drink, and get comfortable while I wait. I sigh. A long, deep, ornery sigh, not defeated, but resigned. And my overactive mind takes me to the last time I sighed like this.

" _Plutarch! Where the hell are they? Get 'em outta there, now!" Explosions are happening all around the hovercraft, which is being bounced around like an out of control coal car on the rails in the mine. It's chaos – everyone is shouting, or running, or furiously working instrument panels, and I'm just standing there, eyes riveted to the screen, not letting myself think about what happens if we don't pull this off._

" _We're working on it, Haymitch." Sure as hell doesn't look like_ he's _working on it. Looks like he's recuperating from his last meal, lounging in his big chair and watching the scurrying around him as if it's another one of his damned TV shows. Lucky for him I'm familiar enough with his tactics that I don't fall for the unruffled façade. He's as nervous as I am. He's just a better actor, I begrudgingly admit. Of course, he had to be, or we would never have gotten this far._

_I keep scanning the monitor, searching through the smoke and lights and darkness for any sign of them. Everything had gone pretty much according to plan, until the end that is. Why Beetee had separated them at the worst possible time was beyond me. But the old guy had held up pretty well, and if he'd forgotten this one part of the plan, well, it was understandable enough. Distressing, but understandable. Couldn't change it now, though. Now, we just needed to find them, fast, and get out of here before reinforcements arrived._

" _Sir, we have two of them near the base of the tree, where the forcefield was disabled. They appear to be unconscious." I look at the crewman sharing this news, waiting for confirmation about which two he's talking about. Plutarch gives the order to pull them up, and the hovercraft moves into position. Then someone else says, "Finnick is heading this way – he's mobile, so should be able to climb the ladder, sir." That's good, three down, two to go, I think. But the suspense is more than I can handle._

" _Who are they? The two at the tree? Do we have them both?" I am insistent in my tone, speaking to the whole room – anyone who can give me the information I want._

" _We believe it is the Mockingjay and Beetee, Mr. Abernathy."_

_My stomach lurches. So we've got the girl, but that may as well be half a person if we don't find the kid. I turn to look at Plutarch, and I don't need words to communicate my message. He frowns, then turns to the crewman closest to him. "Beryl, do we have a fix on Peeta and Johanna? Any idea where they are?"_

" _No, sir. We can't find them."_

" _Keep looking!" I shout. They do not understand how critical this is. I know everyone is already starting to feel like the mission is a success with Katniss, Beetee and Finnick on board. But I also know that without one blonde-haired, blue-eyed baker, our mission may not add up to squat when all is said and done. Not if she reacts the way I think she will._

_And then it happens. A direct hit to the craft, and alarms are blaring, smoke is pouring into the control room, and the shouting on board intensifies to a whole new feverish pitch. I can barely make out what anybody is saying, there are so many people screaming orders and reporting status. But then I hear him, bellowing through the madness. "Get us out of here, now!"_

_I'm lunging at him before I even know it. "NO! We cannot leave him behind! We have to find him! Plutarch – we cannot let them have him!"_

_He turns to me with a hardness I've never seen and simply says, "We don't have a choice. If we don't leave now, we don't leave period."_

_And with that, I feel the hovercraft turn, gain altitude, and pick up speed. But I won't give in – "No! Come around again! Get behind them! Send some men down there to extract him – anything! We cannot leave him to them. She'll never be able to do what we need her to do without him! You have to keep trying!" I must appear maniacal, because I can see the District 13 security guards moving in my direction. But Plutarch doesn't call for them. He simply lowers his head, and speaks so low that I think I may be the only one who can hear him._

" _Haymitch, it's no use. He's probably dead by now anyway. We have to go."_

_And just like that, the reality hits me. We are not going to rescue both of them. We are leaving without him. And she will never forgive me for it. That's when I sink into my chair, and sigh._

The kid is moaning, not quite awake yet, and I wash the memory from my consciousness with a long drink. It's mid-day by now, the sun shines in through the windows, and I take a good, long look at the boy on the sofa. The boy who is clearly not a boy anymore, but not completely a man yet either. An orphan in every sense of the word. In theory, he could have gone anywhere, but I always knew he'd be back here. She's not the only one without any real choices.

He puts his hand up to his head where I hit him, and winces when he touches the bump that must be rising by now. "Sorry about that, kid. You're gonna wanna go easy on your head for a day or two."

He opens his eyes and scans the room for me before he says, "Haymitch. What happened? Did I hurt anyone?"

Typical bread boy we know and love. Lying there with with his head bashed in, wanting to know about everybody else first. "No, Peeta, you didn't hurt anybody. Never made it anywhere close to her. You're the only one with lingering marks this time."

"Good, thanks Haymitch." I knew it. Thanking me for taking a 2x4 to his head. Unbelievable.

"So, I don't remember much. What happened? How did I end up here?"

"Well, Sae came and got me. Said you told her to come, so you musta had some warning it was startin'. When I found you, well, let's just say we've never had such colorful conversation. S'pose I should apologize for some of the things I said, but I figured you wouldn't remember, and I needed to hold your attention." He looks at me dismissively – as I suspected, he has no memory of what I said, and doesn't seem to care that he might not have liked it. So, I continue, "Well, I wasn't entirely sure I could still take you down by myself, so a couple of guys from town held you still enough for me to, uh, incapacitate you."

"Feels like I was hit by a Capitol train."

"Yeah, sorry about that, but my options were limited at the time."

"No, it's fine. Really. I'm just glad you were able to get there before, you know."

"Yeah, you were gunnin' for her pretty hard again. Any idea what set you off? Somethin' happen this mornin'?"

He closes his eyes again and puts his hand over his face. "Nothing really happened to trigger it. Sae and I were walking to town – she was going to show me the market. I got to the bakery, and it just overwhelmed me I think. I haven't had much sleep since I got back, and breakfast with Katniss was more draining than I expected it to be."

So, he had breakfast with the girl, huh? Kid doesn't waste any time. "You taking your medication?"

"Yes, I'm taking it. It helps, but doesn't prevent them."

"So, you've had two episodes since you got back that I know of. Any others?" He looks at me, clearly hoping I hadn't figured out the real reason he hadn't come to look for her the other night. But he shakes his head in response to my question. "Okay, but that's still two in two days, kid. Thought you were better?"

He sits up with too much speed and winces at the sudden change in altitude. Obviously I've struck a nerve now. "I am better! Dr. Aurelius would not have let me come back if I weren't. It's been a couple of weeks since my last episode before these. I think it's just being back here – it's a lot to take in, and I'm less able to fend them off when I haven't had enough sleep. I'll be fine, Haymitch."

I consider him for a moment before I respond. "Right. But have you told her you're still havin' 'em? Does she know?"

"No, I haven't told her. What am I supposed to say, exactly? 'Hi, Katniss. It's great to be back. And by the way, I'm still a Capitol-programmed psycho who wants to kill you when I don't get my beauty sleep?' She's got enough to deal with Haymitch. She doesn't need to be worrying about me trying to hurt her. I'll be fine."

I wonder if he's having any more luck convincing himself than he is me. "Ain't you I'm worried about, kid."

Now it's his turn to sigh. "Look, I'll tell her, but not yet. I just got back. I'm not cured, but I am a lot better. There's no way I'll hurt her again – I've gotten a lot better at controlling them. I just need some more time." He's looking at me now, asking me to keep his secret for him.

"Well, not my ass she's gonna kick when she finds out you didn't tell her right away. It's your funeral. Have it your way. But as your _mentor_ , I don't think you're playin' this one right."

He laughs a bit. "Okay, mentor. I'll keep that in mind. By the way, who were the guys in town who helped you with me?"

"Thom and his buddy, I think Zullo was his name. Why?"

"I want to thank them, too."

Effie would be so proud. I get up to leave, grabbing my spare bottle. "So, breakfast, huh? That part of your big plan?"

He looks at me. "You're welcome to join us, you know."

I have to laugh now. "Right, kid. I can't remember the last _decade_ I had breakfast. Could use some of that bread you make, though. For the geese, of course."

He smiles. "Sure, Haymitch. I can bring you some bread. For the _geese_."

I tip my bottle at him and walk out the door. I'm almost to my house, almost free and clear, when I hear the door slam and know my morning is about to get a lot worse.

"Haymitch!" Shit. Can't outrun her, so I stop and turn around to face the music.

"Hello, sweetheart. Finally discovered there's a whole world out here, huh?" I give her a quick glance-over as she comes up to me. She looks heaps better than the other night, but still thin, pale, not herself. But she's out here, coming toward me, and that's not nothin'.

"What's going on, Haymitch? Why were you at Peeta's house? Why did Sae come back to my house when she was supposed to be in town with him?" Man, she doesn't mess around when she's got somethin' in her teeth. Kinda nice, always knowin' exactly what's on this one's mind. Not that she had to say anything, of course. I usually know before she does.

"What? No 'Hi, Haymitch. Nice to see you, Haymitch. Thanks for draggin' my ass home the other night, Haymitch.'?" She just glares at me, not saying anything, waiting for me to answer. Such an open book. And she wondered why we never told her anything in advance.

"Believe it or not, darlin', I am not the entire district's keeper, only yours. No idea why Sae chooses to keep even more of your company than absolutely necessary. Sure as hell ain't your sunny disposition. As for the kid, just sayin' hi. You know, bein' _neighborly_ and all." She's not buyin' it – that much is evident by the look on her face. But the kid made his preference clear where she was concerned, so I'm not gonna be the one to tell her. I owe him at least that much. I turn to start toward my house again.

"He had an episode, didn't he?"

Damn. Sometimes she can be as shrewd as me. I turn back to look at her. I don't say anything, but I don't have to. She and I have always been pretty good with the unspoken communication. Kid's gonna be mad as hell at me, but I didn't actually tell her anything she didn't already know. He'll get over it. Course, if it were me callin' the shots, I'd use his "disability" to maneuver her into caring about life again. She needs to be needed. He needs her. Match made in heaven, from my perspective. I start walking away from her again, turning to hide the smirk on my face. I suspect my work is done here, but I take the opportunity to make sure she heads in the right direction anyway.

"Do me a favor and don't go see him yet. It's been a long enough day already, and it ain't even noon yet. I don't need anymore excitement today." And with that, I let myself back into my house, slam the front door, and watch with amusement and satisfaction as I see her walk directly up to the kid's porch. Girl never did listen to me. Some things never change. Don't know why a nice kid like that is so obsessed with such a spit fire of a girl, but he can have her. With any luck, it'll make my daily existence a whole lot quieter if he does.

* * *


	12. Feelings

I think about knocking but I'm too angry. I throw the door open and march into the house slamming it shut behind me as I storm in. "Peeta?" I call out. Before he can even answer I see him sitting on the couch.

"Katniss? What's wrong? Are you okay?" He doesn't get up, which I note is odd for him. I stomp over to him, announcing my presence with the same finesse he's capable of in the forest.

"Nothing's wrong with _me_ , Peeta. What happened to _you_? I saw Haymitch leaving, and I thought you were going to town. What's going on?" As I'm talking, I'm taking a visual inventory of him. He doesn't look well, a sudden change from his appearance just a little while ago at breakfast. His hair is messy, his color is off, and he's slouching as he sits. I'm not sure, but I think I see the makings of a bruise on his left temple, too. He's not really looking at me as I'm grilling him. I'm not sure why I'm so irritated with him, but I am growing more and more consternated.

"It's no big deal, Katniss. I wasn't feeling well so I came home. I just want to rest for a little while. I'm fine." He lies down on the couch, putting his arm over his eyes. But I won't be dismissed that easily.

"I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself."

"Why won't you tell me what really happened?"

He sounds exasperated now. "Nothing happened. I just need to sleep for a bit. Why are you so concerned, anyway?" He looks at me now, and I can't decide if it's irritation or something else I see in his eyes.

I won't be sidetracked. "I know you had an episode, Peeta. Now tell me what happened or I'll go drag it out of Haymitch."

He looks angry – something I haven't seen in him very often – and I wonder if I've pushed him too hard, if he's going to have another episode right now in front of me. Instinctively I take a step backward, not because I'm afraid of him, but just as a reflex, my body wanting to position itself more strategically for the possible confrontation my mind has just registered as a potential threat. He sees me move away, though, and I can see his whole body sag deeper into the couch, hurt by my reaction.

"He shouldn't have said anything. This doesn't concern you, Katniss. Please, just let me be, okay?" He's closed his eyes again, hoping I'll take the hint. Wrong again. But now my frustration won't be constrained any longer.

"Oh, really? So, you've acquired another target here in District 12 for your Capitol-implanted murderous impulses? I'm off the hijacking radar, then?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don't know what came over me – I just lashed out, not intending to be so mean and heartless, but unable to stop myself from going there. I realize, instantly, that I've gone too far. I've crossed a line, and I quickly try to scramble back over it. "Peeta, I'm sor-," but he cuts me off. He's not having it.

"Katniss, leave me alone. Please." He gets up, goes upstairs and doesn't look back. I stand there, stunned by both what I said and his abrupt departure as a result of it. How did this happen? When did I become so filled with venom and spite that I could say something like that, to him no less? And since when does Peeta Mellark avoid problems, run away from uncomfortable situations, from confrontation, from me? How did we get here? I'm so shocked at my own callousness that my natural instinct to flee in a situation like this doesn't trigger. I slowly lower myself on to the couch where he was just lying a moment ago and sit down. I can still feel his warmth.

One voice in my head whispers for me to go after him, but I don't. I don't trust myself to not make this worse than I already have. Mostly because there's another voice that's smug and satisfied, sadistically relishing in my "win." It's the third voice, the quiet, unassuming voice that reminds me so much of my father, that captures my attention now. I haven't heard this voice for a long time, certainly since before the Capitol mission, and perhaps even longer than that. But I'm hearing it now, loud and clear.

This isn't me. Or at least, this isn't who I used to be, who I want to be. Not that I really know who I want to be anymore. Or even care, most days. But I do know that I don't want to be this. I don't want to be mean-spirited, acerbic, cruel. At least not to people I know, who are nice to me, who mean something to me. But I'm so, so angry. It scares me. I wanted to lash out at Peeta, I remember that, but I'm not even sure why. I mean, why be angry with him? I know it wasn't his fault he was hijacked. I know he doesn't want to have these lingering aftereffects of the torture he endured, the torture they inflicted on him just to get to me. I know he's also broken, trying to put the shattered pieces back together for himself. But knowing these things seems to have little relation to the emotions that cascade over me like the avalanches that buried the nut in District 2. I can't deny that his presence makes me mad a lot of the time. I lose any semblance, no matter how minuscule, of control I may have over my emotions and they run rampant through me when he's around. I can't stand feeling that out of control. I can't stand myself for saying hurtful things I don't even mean. Mostly, I just can't stand who I feel myself becoming when my emotions take over.

So, the logical thing would be to not be around him, right? But I know that I don't want that, either. I've had that, and it's as unappealing as becoming this horrid person in his presence. And since when did I allow my emotions to dictate my behavior? As I recall, I've always been fairly adept at pushing aside my feelings to do what had to be done, what I needed to do, what everyone expected me to do. Life was a lot simpler then, when I could just bury any unpleasant feelings and move on with the task at hand. But now, in this purgatory that is my life, there aren't enough tasks in which to bury the emotions. They flood me with little warning and no regret. I feel like three people wrapped in one fragile package. The weary old woman who has seen too much of life's dark side, the conflicted teenager still struggling to discover herself, and the little girl lost in the woods, whose heart still aches for her father to come and rescue her. I am all of these, the emotions of each constantly battling their way to the forefront of my consciousness.

My head hurts from all these thoughts rambling around in my brain. I force myself to stand up, because somehow I always seem to think better on my feet. But I don't move toward the door. That would be capitulating to my emotions, letting Snow and the Capitol best me yet again, and I simply refuse to let that happen. I don't move toward the steps either, as I have no idea what I would say, Peeta made it pretty clear he doesn't want to see me right now, and I'm frankly tired of talking, even if most of it has been just in my head. So I turn in the only direction left, toward the back of the house, to the kitchen. I need something to do. I'm not a baker, can't really even cook decently, but my years of stretching everything to make it last have taught me how to concoct a pretty good soup. I decide if I can't talk my way through an apology, I can bribe my way to one. I rummage through Peeta's cabinets and stores, finding some spices, beans, a couple of carrots, some meat – though I am not sure what kind it is – and a few potatoes. Not Capitol fare, for sure, but it will do. I also find some rolls that Peeta must have baked, and set to work creating my first peace offering. I'm confident it won't be my last.

* * *

My head throbs, but my heart aches. I'm lying in bed, holding back tears because I don't want to give in to the defeat I feel closing in around me. I can't believe she said those things. I could see she regretted them as soon as she said them, but still. I just wasn't prepared for her to be so cruel, so hurtful. What am I doing here? Is this what I came back for? And Haymitch. When am I going to learn to not trust that guy? Of course he told her. He's always chosen her over me, from the very beginning. I can't believe I was so gullible.

I close my eyes, letting the exhaustion of the last few days overtake me, and I sleep. I don't know how long, or even if I have any nightmares. When I wake up, it's several hours later, as the shifted light in my room now suggests it's early evening. I feel physically rested but emotionally drained. My head is now more of a dull ache, but my stomach wins out as it growls at me for my neglect. I roll out of bed, and change into some sweat pants and a t-shirt before heading downstairs to scrounge for something to appease my appetite. Since I never made it to the market, I expect my options will be limited. I don't really register it until I'm almost all the way down the stairs, and then I stop short. What is that aroma? I don't recognize it, but it is definitely coming from my kitchen. I am about to thank Greasy Sae for her courage and caring, when I round the corner and stop short yet again.

Greasy Sae is not in my kitchen preparing dinner for me. Katniss is standing over the stove, stirring something in a large pot. I am so surprised I can't move. Seeing her there was startling enough, but as I let my vision expand to take in the whole scene, I am incapable of processing the disaster that was once my kitchen. There are spices spilled on every counter. Knives, cutting boards, measuring spoons and various utensils lay strewn as if someone just pulled them out and tossed them in the air to see where they would fall. There are multiple spills and stains, three or four dish towels crumpled on the counter or even the floor, and remnants of discarded food littered everywhere. It is hard to imagine that all of this could be the debris field for a single pot of food, not to mention the output of one small girl. I stand there, gawking, when she turns around and sees me.

"Oh, hey. Good timing. I was just going to go up and check on you again. I hope you're hungry." She takes two bowls out of the cabinet and starts filling them with whatever is in the pot on the stove. As she's doing that, I am unable to suppress a laugh that swells from my belly and erupts at full volume, causing her to jump, creating yet another spill near the stove.

She's giving me the evil eye. "Peeta, what is so funny?" And she's totally serious. I laugh even harder.

"Katniss! Are you kidding me? Look at this place! What happened in here?" I can feel tears starting to spill out of my eyes, and my sides are starting to hurt. I cannot remember ever laughing this hard, not even after Johanna stripped in the elevator.

Katniss surveys the kitchen now, and tries to hold in the smile that is emerging on her lips. "It's not that bad."

This makes me sputter. "Oh, come on. I can't even imagine how you created such a mess in the first place. I've never seen a kitchen in such a state – at least, not one that was actually being used!" I'm taking in huge gulps of air, trying to calm down. Katniss is just staring at me, torn between a smile and a pout. I try to compose myself again for her sake. "What are you making?"

"Soup. I thought you might be hungry. It's not much, but…" She trails off, looking decidedly unsure of herself now. I smile at her, a genuine, full smile. She's here, cooking – or at least something intended to be cooking – for me. Suddenly my head feels much better.

"It smells great, really. I'm sure it's delicious. Is it ready? I'm starving."

"Then sit down already." She goes back to scooping soup out of the pot into the bowls, and I make my way over to the table, which thankfully seems to have escaped her cooking foray unscathed. I choose a seat with my back to the rest of the kitchen so I won't be distracted while we eat. She brings over two bowls and spoons, then a plate with a few of the rolls I had leftover, and a couple of glasses of water. We sit down to eat, and I am pleasantly surprised at how edible it is. I've already finished about half of my first bowl by the time I remember my manners.

"Thanks, Katniss. This tastes really good."

She doesn't look up, just stirs her spoon in her bowl gently. "You're welcome, Peeta," she says softly. I sense there's more she wants to say, but she remains silent and continues eating her soup. I decide to clear the air a bit.

"Katniss, about earlier, I'm sorry I walked out on you." She looks at me now, her eyes clear, her look determined.

"I don't blame you. I should never have said those things. I didn't mean them, you know."

Now it's my turn to look down. "I know." _But it hurt just the same._

"So, are you going to tell me what happened now? For real?"

She just won't drop something when she's fixated on it. I suppose there's no point in trying to deny it now that Haymitch has already told her. "I'm sure Haymitch gave you the pertinent details."

"He didn't tell me anything. I had already figured it out – I just asked him for confirmation, but he didn't respond. Told me not to come here, as a matter of fact."

Okay, so I called that wrong. Thanks, Haymitch. Of course, maybe it would have been easier if he had told her. Because now she's waiting for me to do it. Only I don't really remember it.

"Well, I don't remember much. Sae and I made it to the bakery, and I felt it starting, so I told her to get Haymitch. Next thing I knew, I woke up on my couch with a wicked headache and Haymitch sitting in the chair. He said he and a couple of guys from town managed to knock me out and bring me here."

I'm trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing, using a no-big-deal tone. She watches me carefully as I talk, though, and I can just about see the wheels spinning in her head. "So, why did Sae come to my house, then?"

I blink. Haymitch didn't mention anything about that. "I don't know. I didn't know she had."

Katniss nods, as if to indicate she accepts my answer. "So, what do you think caused it this time? What triggered it?"

I shrug. I really don't want to discuss this with her. I have theories, of course, about what caused it, but I don't know for sure. This was already a lot more than I wanted to get into with her so soon after coming back. I'm not sure I want to get into a big discussion about this right now. "I'm not sure. Maybe seeing the bakery for the first time. It's hard to say."

She considers this and takes a few more spoonfuls of soup. I grab a roll and start dunking it in my bowl. I also sense an opportunity to change the subject. It's a gamble, I know. But I can't help feeling optimistic given how much she's already come out of her shell today. I decide to go for it. "So, obviously I never made it to the market, and as I'm sure you discovered I really need some supplies. Since it would seem you've cleaned out my cupboards this afternoon, maybe you'd like to help me restock tomorrow?"

She looks at me like a tribute just cornered by the careers and I instantly regret my choice. I backpedal quickly. "Or not. I don't want you to do anything you don't feel up for. I'm sure we can go another time."

She's staring out the window now, and I can't make sense of the expressions flying across her face too fast for me to decipher. I'm not sure what else to say, so I just wait for her to respond.

"Peeta, I don't go out."

"You did today." She looks perturbed.

"I don't go to town."

"Katniss, you can't stay in your house forever." I'm not sure why I'm pushing this. I know it's too soon. But she seems to need to have this debate out loud, and she's not shutting me down, so I just go with it.

"Maybe, maybe not. Besides, who's to say you wouldn't have another episode tomorrow? My being there may be enough to trigger it."

And suddenly, I'm catapulted back to our time together in the Capitol, when she was the one who pulled me out of my episode by talking to me and kissing me. My mind connects the dots and starts to speak before I even complete the thought. "Or you may be the one capable of preventing it. If it means avoiding having Haymitch hit me over the head with a brick to knock me out, I'd definitely prefer to take my chances with you there."

She raises an eyebrow at me now. "Haymitch hit you in the head with a brick?"

I grin. "Well, I don't know that it was a brick for sure, but it had to be something hard to account for this headache and bruise. Don't change the subject, Katniss. Will you please come with me to the market tomorrow?"

She looks at me, then shakes her head. "No, Peeta, I can't. Not yet. I'm not ready, and I'm still not convinced it's a good idea for us to go there together."

Her tone conveys that the debate is over, so I back off. "OK, but the offer stands whenever you're ready, alright?"

She nods. "How's your head? Do you want me to get some herbs from my house for you? I think there are some left in my mom's old supplies. I could make you some tea to help soothe your headache."

As tempting as that sounds, I don't really want her to go yet. Besides, I've not completely forgotten about the monstrous mess waiting behind me. "Thanks, but I'd actually rather have some help cleaning up this mess you made. You weren't planning on leaving this for me, were you?" I smile to make sure she knows I'm just teasing.

"Well, I did cook. Shouldn't we divvy up the duties?" She asks, but I can tell she's not serious either.

"Oh I see. Fine, but I'll remember this when it's my turn to cook for you." There's a lot implied in that simple retort, but she doesn't acknowledge it.

"Well, seeing as how you're injured, I suppose I could help you just this once."

I have to laugh again. "I'll take it – pity cleaning." And with that we get up and start to restore my kitchen to its natural state. Despite appearances, it actually doesn't take as long as I anticipate, and before I know it everything is cleaned up and Katniss is heading out.

"So, I think I still have enough to scrape together one more loaf of bread. Can I bring it over for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Sure, Peeta, that's fine."

I look at her now, and have to remind myself that one evening does not erase months of pain and suffering, for either of us. "Thanks, Katniss. I'm really glad you ignored me and stayed today."

She hesitates only for a second, then replies, "See you tomorrow, Peeta." And she's gone. I close the door behind her and allow myself another full-blown smile. Perhaps today wasn't a total loss after all.

* * *

I'm slumped over on my kitchen table, my preferred roost on any given day, when I abruptly awake to the girl dumping a pitcher of ice cold water on my head. Damn I really hate that. I stick my knife in the tabletop and glare at her. "Who let you in?"

"If you ever do that to him again, Haymitch, I swear I will resurrect the girl on fire by dousing you in kerosene instead and striking the match myself."

Doesn't mess around, does she? I always have to wonder just how empty these threats of hers are, though. Catch her on a bad day and you never really know.

"The kid actually thanked me, for your information. What the hell would you have me do, anyway?"

"You come get me."

And with that she storms out. Well, well, well. That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. Welcome back, Mockingjay.

* * *


	13. Secrets

I absolutely have to get to the market today. But I was able to scrape together enough for two small loaves this morning. I took the first one over to Haymitch's house, but he was passed out on the living room floor, so I just left it on the kitchen table. I'm sure there will be time later today to talk with him. Then I headed to Katniss' house for breakfast. Sae was already in the kitchen heating water for tea and oatmeal. We greet each other, and I thank her for her help yesterday.

"Jus' glad you're feelin' better. Hope it wasn't nothin' I said."

"Definitely not, Sae. I'm sorry if I worried you. But it was in no way anything you said or did. In fact, I was hoping you might be willing to show me the market again this morning. I really need to buy some supplies today."

"Well sure, if you think you're up to it."

"I think so. But maybe we could not go so near the bakery this time? Probably won't be an issue, but just in case."

"'Course, we can take the long way round. Give me a chance to show you some of the Seam and what they're rebuilding there."

"Great! Thanks, Sae."

We make our tea and I slice up the bread and start making some toast. Sae puts out some preserves to spread on the toast when Katniss walks into the kitchen. She's dressed, showered, and not scowling for a change. The day looks promising.

"Morning." She walks in and sits at the table, her braid swinging over her shoulder as she does so. She looks pretty, and more like the Katniss I remember from before my hijacking than she has since I've come back. Her clothes hang more loosely, her face seems a bit hollow, and her coloring is still too pale, but she's definitely looking better. Our eyes meet and she nods slightly in acknowledgement.

We all sit down to eat, and though no one is really talking much, it feels more comfortable than yesterday. We continue in silence for a few minutes, until Katniss actually begins.

"So, you're heading to the market today again?" She's looking right at me.

"Um, yea. Sae agreed to walk me there. I really need some supplies."

"Are you sure? I mean, what if…" She doesn't finish, but we all know what she means.

"I don't think it'll be a problem. We're going to stay clear of the bakery, just in case. But I think my initial shock is over. I should be fine." She just keeps looking at me, so I look down and eat my oatmeal, hoping she isn't going to make a big deal about this. I decide to put her on the spot a bit. "So, got any plans today yourself?"

"Nope."

"Really? Nothing? You could call Dr. Aurelius, you know. I talked with him last night. He said to tell you he's still waiting to hear from you." She glares at me now, and I smirk just a bit. It's so easy to get under her skin sometimes. Of course I have no expectation that she will ever call him, really. But it's still fun to keep reminding her, just to get a rise out of her. And I did actually talk with the doc last night, after my episode and after she had gone home. I had described the day, my episode, our time together last evening. Dr. Aurelius had commended me on my ability to send Sae for help, and remarked that doing so showed real progress. He had been the one to suggest trying to get to the market again today. He thinks that the release of tension that the episode afforded means that I shouldn't have a relapse so soon. He had also been impressed with Katniss' reaction with the soup making. He hadn't actually asked me to convey a message to her, but he had said something about how it would be nice to talk with her directly someday. I figured that was close enough.

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I don't think I'll have time today." She gets up and puts her dishes in the sink. "Have fun at the market." And with that she walks out of the room and back upstairs.

Sae and I finish breakfast, talking a bit about what I might be able to get at the market and what I'll need to order from the Capitol. She tells me that Nigel, the owner of the market, can place a Capitol order for me and have it on the next train, so I start making a mental list of all the things I want to either buy today or place on order. In addition to baking supplies and basic food stores, I know I want to replenish my painting supplies as well. Making lists in my head is a good task for me to occupy my mind as we start walking into town. Rather than take the exact same route we took yesterday, we veer to the left after leaving Victor's Village, and take a route that skirts the edges of both the town and the area formerly known as the Seam. It looks charred and crumbling in most places, but there are also definite signs of new life – new houses in the midst of ruins that haven't been cleared yet, fresh, clean laundry hanging outside on lines hung between crumbling ash-covered remnants of chimneys. It's strange, but encouraging. I don't see any kids running around, though, and remark on that to Sae as we walk.

"Oh, they's all in school. There aren't many of 'em, least not yet. But a few weeks ago new teacher arrived – Mr. Batton, I think, - and they started up classes again. 'Course the schoolhouse is gone, so they's meetin' in one of the old shops. Thom – you know Thom? – he and his crew fixed it up enough a couple of days after the teacher got here so's they could hold a class there."

"Of course. It's been so long since I thought about school, I guess I just forgot that's what kids do during the day. I'm glad there's a teacher back in town. Do they have plans to build a new schoolhouse? How many kids are there?"

"I don't rightly know. S'pose Thom would be the one to ask about new buildin's. He's kinda taken charge of that effort. I heard there was about 20 kids, various ages, but more n' more keep showin' up each week. May have to have another teacher in another coupla' months."

"I haven't met Thom yet, but I'd like to try to find him today if I can." I add cookie and cupcake supplies to my growing list of items. If there are 20 kids in town, I'd like to make some treats for them.

"Well, he's usually around here somewhere. We can keep an eye out for him. But, here, the market's right o'er there."

We walk into the market, and it's small but well kept, and has a decent variety of goods from which to choose. I meet Nigel Landry, the proprietor. He shakes my hand enthusiastically, and at first I'm confused at the reaction. But then it dawns on me that he's probably known who I was for the last two years or so. It makes me uncomfortable to be treated like this, but I return his enthusiasm with a genuine smile and ask him to please just call me Peeta when he addresses me as Mr. Mellark. I'm not my father, I think to myself.

I spend about an hour in his shop, selecting several items from his shelves, as well as conveying my list of goods for the Capitol order which he eagerly writes down, assuring me that it will be in by the end of the week on the Thursday afternoon train. Once I finish with my shopping, excited by all the new supplies I'm acquiring with which to finally start doing some serious baking again, I experience a moment of utter embarrassment as I realize I have failed to bring any money with which to pay the man. He laughs at my discomfort, telling me that my word is more than enough collateral for a credit account at his store. He then offers to have one of the older kids drop off the goods I've picked out from the shelves later today after school gets out. I thank him, assure him that I will come by this week to settle the account, and make a mental note to be sure I bring some fresh-baked bread with my funds as a way to show my gratitude.

When we leave the market, Sae says goodbye and heads off in another direction. I decide to stroll a little bit through town, not heading to the bakery exactly, but in the vicinity. I just want to survey where the town is in terms of rebuilding, population, needs, etc. I don't feel any of the anxiety or discomfort I felt yesterday. On the contrary, I am mostly curious, as well as eager to see other people. There aren't many, but I do see some men with construction hats walking by, a few groups of women carrying laundry or plants or groceries, and a few merchants in the front doors of their shops, all of which are in varying stages of repair. There aren't many, but it feels hopeful to see their faces. They aren't grimacing, hurried in their steps, or avoiding eye contact. They are relaxed, strolling, chatting with one another, friendly. This is a totally new phenomenon for District 12. Before the rebellion, people walked around in fear, only being out as long as was absolutely necessary, trying hard not to draw attention to themselves. But now, the Peacekeepers have been replaced with a comfortable, amicable, even neighborly feel in the people I see around town. And I like it. A lot.

I'm starting to head back toward home when I hear someone behind me calling, "Mr. Mellark! Mr. Mellark!" I turn to see a tall man running to catch up to me. He looks vaguely familiar, with Seam coloring, short-cropped black hair, about 6'4" and a weathered look about him that at first glance makes him appear older than he really is. Upon closer inspection, I put him about 2-3 years older than me, and when he gets close enough for me to really see his face, I can't shake the feeling that I've met him before. He puts his hand out to shake mine as he approaches, calling me "Mr. Mellark" once again. As I stretch out my hand to grasp his, I am overcome with a vision of carrying Gale Hawthorne from the town square on a makeshift stretcher with Haymitch, and this man – Thom. The pieces of the puzzle start to come together – this is the same Thom who helped Haymitch with me yesterday.

"Hi, Thom. Please, call me Peeta. I was hoping I would run into you today."

"It's good to see you, well, again I suppose. Don't think you remember me from yesterday, though. Haymitch hit you pretty good, as I recall. How ya' feelin? How's your head?"

"Much better, thanks. I really wanted to thank you for your help yesterday. I'm sorry you had to see me like that, but I appreciate you being there to help Haymitch get me home."

"Well, it was a surprise, for sure. But, the way I figure it, the fact that you were able to survive everything you went through at all tells me all I really need to know about you. The rest will just work itself out, I guess. You and her are sure entitled to a few lapses, as I see it."

I'm not entirely sure what that means, but decide to let it go. "Thanks, Thom. So, I hear you're the man to see about the rebuilding going on."

"Well, I've been able to help out here and there. Why? Any chance you want to help us? We can use all the strong arms we can get."

We talk for a few minutes, and it feels great to make a friend. Thom is unassuming and humble, but smart and clearly big-hearted. I ask about how I might be able to help out, and he tells me about where they are in the process of clearing out the rubble before concerted rebuilding efforts can begin. He says that the focus will be two-fold – on the merchant shops and on new houses in the former Seam, so that the people already here can get the basic necessities they need, and to make room for more people to come back to the District and have a place to live. He's got a few different crews already, but welcomes my offer to join them and help out, too. We part ways, agreeing to meet up tomorrow morning. I head back toward home, feeling for the first time in a long time as if life is finally moving forward.

* * *

I had waited until they left the house, and then snuck out after them, keeping a good distance behind, and trailing them all the way from the house to the market. I didn't trust him as much as he trusted himself, and I was definitely not going to let a repeat of yesterday happen, so I followed him to make sure he was okay. In some ways it was hard. Not being seen by them, of course – that part was easy. Neither Peeta nor Sae had hunter's instincts or any reason to look back over their shoulder. Neither of them existed with daily paranoia like mine. What was hard was not looking around as we moved closer to and through town. I tried to stay focused on following my prey, rather than succumbing to the ruins around me that would surely overwhelm me with their potency. As we got closer and closer to the market, it also grew more challenging to remain unseen by other people. I used trees, burned out buildings, ditches and any other concealment I could find to stay hidden from busybodies while still keeping a watchful eye on the two of them as they chatted and walked, looking perfectly carefree.

But as we started to get into town, I couldn't help be aware of the other people. Not that they were noticing me, necessarily, but they were definitely noticing him. Many of them would actually stare and point, drawing the attention of anyone near them to him as well. Unbelievably, he either wasn't aware of the looks he was generating, or chose to just ignore them and act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no way I could have done it. I can't bear the idea of being the center of that much attention ever again. As they entered the market, I was caught hiding not only from them, but from all sorts of people who seemed to have materialized out of thin air, congregating around the market as if waiting for him to come out again just so they could catch another glimpse of their blond-haired hometown hero. I holed up under an old broken-down wagon that was backed up against some wooden barrels. I settled in for a bit, waiting for them to start the return trip so I could get back to my solitude.

After what seemed like forever I got impatient. I hadn't seen any sign of commotion or Sae running out of the store in a panic, so concluded that the delay wasn't due to another episode. I started wondering just how much food one person could really need, and was about to give up and head back home on my own, when the two of them stepped through the doorway. I watched them, prepared to backtrack through my hiding places, when they split up, moving off in opposite directions. Peeta was actually moving farther into town, something I was not willing to do at this point. And Sae was on a path that would make it impossible for me to sneak back the way I had come without being seen. At that very moment, I noticed a couple of men heading straight for me, or I should say, for the wagon or barrels under which I was hiding. Rather than risk being discovered, I scooted out and took off in a direction toward the outside of town. I was at one end of the Seam, opposite from where my old house had been, and I knew I didn't want to traverse the entire Seam area, so I just headed straight toward the woods that surrounded District 12. I knew I was heading away from either Sae or Peeta, so I took less care to not be seen, and was probably spotted by a few people as I ran through the dirt roads, but I didn't care. It felt good to be running again, good to be breathing fresh air. I wasn't really thinking about where I was going, when I came up on the edge of the forest, stopping to collect my breath and debating which way to go.

Essentially, I have three choices. I can bear left, and take the long way around back to Victor's Village. I can bear right, and travel along the outskirts of the Seam back toward my old house and my familiar woods. Or I can go straight, venturing into new unexplored forest. Because while I know that eventually these woods would meet up with my old hunting grounds, I had never ventured in this direction before. The lake and the woods that Gale and I scoured headed away from the District altogether, not encircling it. So, these woods are unfamiliar – I don't know their secrets. It's mid-morning, and standing here on the edge of the forest it's as if I can feel their draw on my soul. I can smell the pine and timber, hear the rustling of the wind in the leaves, feel the sun filtering through the branches, creating complex patterns on the forest floor. I am slightly apprehensive – not because this is new terrain, but because the memory of my last escape into the woods, into my woods, is fresh in my mind. But it's different – I am not out of my head, it is not nighttime, I am not fleeing from him. I am different, these woods are different, and I sense a stirring in my soul to reconnect with my world, the only world I've ever truly felt at home in. I step forward.

I'm running lightly, just taking in the sights around me, keeping track of the sun in the sky so I can find my way back when I'm ready. I don't have my bow and arrows, so I won't be hunting. When I'm far enough in that I feel confident no one else will inadvertently intrude on my escapade, and when I notice that I'm starting to breathe more heavily than I should after such a short time, I slow to a walk. I take time to notice all the plants, most familiar, a few new ones that I'll need to check my family book about. But it is the trees that captivate me. As if I am walking among old, close friends, they encircle me and shroud me in their canopy. I can't stop looking at them – identifying them by their trunks and leaves, touching their bark as I pass by, as a distant relative might touch your cheek after not seeing you for years. I pick up handfuls of pine needles and scatter them behind me as I walk. I take long, deep breaths, inhaling the sweet fragrance of life that the forest has always provided for me. Unlike my woods the other evening, these woods do not assault me with ghosts and images of everything I have lost or destroyed. On the contrary, these woods speak to me with comforting whispers, welcoming me back to them as if I were a long-lost daughter. And even though we have never met, I feel at home.

I find a tree with low-hanging branches and stand at the base, assessing my body's ability to take me where my heart longs to go. Tentatively, I reach up, grabbing the lowest branch and slowly pulling myself up to it. It's hard, and my muscles protest, though not violently. I swing myself up to a sitting position, and let my senses adjust to this new height. I slowly stand, and reach up again, my hands smarting slightly from the rough bark and immense pressure needed to pull the rest of my body higher. But I climb. I manage to climb about halfway up the tree, to a perfectly formed wedge that cradles my body just so, and I settle in, basking in my accomplishment and the solitude I have craved for so long. I gaze all around, wanting to just absorb every image, texture, smell and sound around me. This place is refreshingly empty for me – empty of loved ones and friends, empty of horrors and sorrows, empty of battles and flights. Invigorating in its lushness, calming in its emptiness, it is perfectly balanced to soothe me. As I sit quietly, I begin to notice the animal life venturing out around me. Plentiful and good-sized, I realize these woods will provide a bountiful hunting ground, when I am ready. I smile at my own revelation. It's no longer an "if" I am ready thought, but has somehow transformed itself into "when" without my knowledge or consent.

After a couple of hours, I swing down through the branches and land with a soft thud on the forest floor. I decide to venture just a bit farther into the forest, though I note that the sun has just begun its downward arc for the day. I walk several hundred meters, when the ground begins to slope upward. From where I stand, I can see that it crests in about 150 meters, so steadily I begin my ascent to see what awaits at the top. I grow increasingly winded, and realize I am physically much weaker than I mentally had accepted. But I am close to the top now, and gasp audibly when I see my reward for my efforts. Before me lies the most beautiful meadow I have ever seen.

Much larger than the meadow in the District by my woods, this one is vibrant and alive, filled with wildflowers of almost every color. Tall green grass sways in the breeze. Butterflies dance and flit in numbers that defy counting. And about 20 meters from me, I see berry bushes so laden with fruit that their branches barely make it off the ground. As I walk out into the meadow, I look up, and feel as if I could almost touch the blue sky and white, wispy clouds floating up above. It is breathtaking. So full of… _life_ …that I am awed by it. I've never wanted to take a picture of anything in my life before, except maybe Prim. But this place, the beauty tucked away here from the rest of the world, makes me want to be a photographer, makes me envy Peeta's ability to paint. I run my hands over the tall grass and flowers as I walk, and I do not even try to stop the smile that creeps onto my mouth. Maybe someday I'll be able to go back to the lake, but until then, this place will provide me with new sanctuary – away from prying eyes and probing questions.

I stay for a bit longer, not wanting to part from the whispering grasses and murmuring branches, both stirred by the soft and gentle breezes. As I am lying on my back, looking to the sky, I hear them. Mockingjays – tossing an unfamiliar tune among themselves. Their voices are poignant in their beauty, but sharp and painful in the familiar feelings they begin to evoke. As I feel the tears start to rise, I beat them to it by taking to my feet and descending quickly from the meadow. I am both glad that they are here, and saddened by their songs. Another day, perhaps. Today, it is time to go.

I manage to make my way back to my house by taking the long way, seeing virtually no one during my trek. It is late afternoon, far later than I had anticipated being out, and I am surprised to see Peeta outside his house, digging. Intrigued, I walk over to him, taking a path that makes it seem as if I am coming out of my own house. He is completely oblivious to my presence, just like earlier today. I'm almost close enough to grab his shovel before he finally notices me and stops digging, standing up straight. "Boy, has somebody really let their guard down lately. Peeta, what on earth are you doing? Not more bushes, I hope?"

He wipes the sweat off his forehead, looking at me and squinting in the afternoon sun. "I decided to plant a vegetable garden. I ordered the seeds from the Capitol, and they should be here on Thursday, so I wanted to get the garden ready."

I look at him, trying to decide if he's serious or not. "Do you know anything about gardening? Or growing vegetables? Or farming, or anything?" After all, this is a merchant kid, who now has more money than the entire district combined.

He shifts a bit, clearly defensive at my queries. "Well, how hard can it be? Dig a hole, throw in a seed, water it, watch it grow. I mean, it's not complicated. And I figured I could plant more than I need and share them with folks."

I shake my head, give a wry smile, and turn to walk away. "Okay, if you say so. Good luck with that."

"You could help, you know."

I stop. He is so persistent. I turn around to look at him, trying to figure out if there is more to his offer than simply a desire to lessen the manual labor facing him. But he's just looking at me, expressionless, waiting for an answer. And while part of me would enjoy getting my hands dirty in a constructive way, I'm also pretty tired from my unexpected jaunt into the forest. Then again, physical exhaustion could lead to a better night's sleep if I'm too tired for my dreams to reach me. I walk back, take his shovel out of his hands, and start digging. Peeta walks to the back of his house, and returns a minute later with a second shovel – is there anything this boy doesn't have readily on hand? – and we work together, silently, tilling the soil and preparing the ground for planting. I guess it's been about an hour and a half, with fewer than ten words spoken between us, by the time the sun is low enough and the hour late enough and we've made enough progress that we stop working and by unspoken agreement lean our shovels against the house. We're wiping our hands on our clothes, dragging dirty arms across our foreheads, and must both look pretty grimy when we walk to the front of his house.

"Thanks for the help, Katniss. It's good to see you out of the house again."

"You sound like Haymitch."

He chuckles, then says with a smile that betrays the true meaning of his words, "Speaking of whom, he stopped by earlier today, looking for you actually. Seems you were nowhere to be found, until you came strolling back into Victor's Village again, that is. I assured him that you were probably just _skulking_ around town, maybe even heading to the _market_ yourself. Hope you enjoyed your day out."

And with that, he turns and heads into his house, laughing quietly, leaving me exposed and fuming on the lawn. As I head back to my own home, though, I realize I'm not actually that upset about being caught.


	14. Invitations

The days start to slip into a comfortable routine. I have breakfast with Sae & Katniss most mornings, and while not talkative, our mornings have an ease about them now. I always bring a fresh baked good – cinnamon rolls, croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Since my order came in from the Capitol, I've really been able to dive into my baking, baking in the early morning hours before breakfast, and many afternoons as well. Katniss seems partial to cinnamon rolls, so I make sure to bring those at least once a week. But even I can't stomach them much more often than that. I feel pleased with myself that even though she still doesn't eat a lot, she eats something every morning. Well, almost every morning. So, it would seem we're making progress on item number one on my list, eating.

I've also started helping out with one of Thom's teams. There are 5 of us on my crew – Rowan, Nate, Hasmik, Blane and me. Rowan and Nate hail from District 13, have been friends for years, and were eager to experience life above ground and with less structure than the rigid scheduling they grew up with. They seem to be about my age, though I haven't asked. Hasmik comes from District 8. He lost his family in the factory bombings there, and just wanted a fresh start. He's a soft-spoken, older man, but I liked him instantly. Blane is a former Capitol-rebel. He had joined the underground movement just before the Quarter Quell, and after the Capitol fell, knew he wanted to experience life in the Districts. He came here first, to 12, to help with the rebuilding effort, and because apparently our district has a sort of celebrity status that the Capitol side of him was drawn to. I think he had a pretty rough adjustment his first few weeks here, but Thom had taken him under his wing a bit and now he seems to feel more at home.

They are all good guys, and I enjoy working with them for a few hours each day. I also enjoy the physical workout – it feels good to be lifting, swinging a sledgehammer and hauling heavy wheelbarrows of debris to the slag. I can feel my muscles building back up, and I like putting my natural strength to use in something that doesn't involve either fighting for survival or harming somebody else for a change.

In the afternoons, I putz around the garden a bit and then bake bread that I've prepared dough for earlier in the day. Sae gave me some pointers on gardening, and I've really taken a liking to it. I'm eager for the carrots, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, onions, lettuce and other vegetables I planted to come in so I can share them with Sae and others, as well as use them in my own meals. I really like not being dependent on the Capitol for everything, and am also enjoying spending time outside, in the dirt. It's therapeutic in its own way. I can lose myself in my thoughts when I need to, or I can work out any undefined tension or aggression on my off days. Every now and then Katniss or Haymitch will come by – she to pull a few weeds, him to just sit on my porch and make fun of my new hobby.

Our evenings are the most random. Sometimes I spend them on my own, and I paint or clean or just sit by the fire sketching. Sometimes Katniss comes to my house for dinner. Less frequently, Haymitch joins us. We haven't quite gotten back to our easy, flowing conversation, the way we used to interact before the Quell and everything else. But we're trying. I think we each have come to terms with the idea that the three of us have each other, and somehow that needs to work. Slowly, we're all getting used to one another again.

Today I'm sitting on my porch finishing a sandwich I made for lunch. Katniss comes walking up the street, carrying a sack. I wave to her, and she comes over, tossing the sack into my lap.

"What's this?" I ask.

"For you. Thought you might be able to use them, you know, in your baking."

I look from her to the sack, intrigued. I open the top, and see that the sack is filled with plump, ripe blackberries. I know they are blackberries because my Dad used to order some from the Capitol about twice a year, for special occasions or orders that came in. I love blackberries, but of course she couldn't possibly know that.

"Wow! Thanks, Katniss. These are wonderful. I can definitely use them! Are there more where these came from? If not I can freeze some to make them last. But if there are more, I'd love to have them."

She seems pleased with my reaction. "Yeah, there are more. Give me back the sack after you've emptied it and I'll bring you some more."

It dawns on me that she must be getting these from the forest. I know there are no blackberry bushes in town. "Where did you get these? You never brought us any of these before." I don't have to explain "before," she intuitively gets what I'm saying.

"I, uh, just found this bush. In the forest. It's no big deal." She's uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to divulge her source. She turns for her house.

"Hey, how about you and Haymitch join me for dinner tonight? I'll use some of these to make a special dessert." I've never actually suggested dinner before – she just shows up when she wants to. But she looks at me now, and grins just a bit.

"Sure. See you later." And with that she leaves for her house.

I take the berries inside, wash and drain them, set aside what I'll use for tonight, and put the rest in a container in the fridge. Then I walk over to Haymtich's to extend his invitation, as well as just check on him in general. I haven't seen him or his geese in a couple of days. I walk in his front door, and the first thing I notice is that I am not immediately repulsed by my surroundings. For a moment I wonder if I've inadvertently wandered into the wrong house. That's when I remember. I had been talking with Rowan & Nate about wanting to find someone to clean Haymitch's house, or at least attempt to clean it. They had recommended a friend of theirs from 13 who had come with them – Annaliese. She had come with them to the worksite the next day, and I had talked with her about the job, and more particularly about Haymitch and his…eccentricities, but she had seemed undaunted and agreed to start the next day. She's a small but scrappy thing, probably a few years older than me, with short red hair, lots of freckles and green eyes. But she had a no-nonsense attitude, and said that after life in 13 where everything was so structured and planned, she would enjoy a challenge. I'd forgotten about it until now, but it seems she's been successful in her attempt to bring his living standard back up to human.

He is, of course, sitting at the kitchen table, flask in hand. "Hi, Haymitch. Wow, what an improvement." I'm still looking around dumbfounded, taking in the transformation.

"Hmmph. Don't know what you're all excited 'bout. Now I got some bossy, uppity, pipsqueak of a girl tryin' to mess with my sense of style, no thanks to you."

"Style? I didn't realize the Capitol had condoned 'pigsty' as a style. Besides, Annaliese seems nice enough. You better be treating her nicely."

"Nice? That drill sergeant? You should be here next time she sweeps through here with her mop and bucket. Not sure who's scarier – her or the Mockingjay. Speakin' of which, how goes 'the big plan'?"

I laugh now. "What plan? I gave that up days ago. Guess it's more of wait-and-see approach now."

He nods, knowingly. "Safer. For you."

"Maybe. Just not sure what's going on, you know? She seems better, but I'm not really getting any of my questions answered. And while she's not running away from me anymore, we just seem to be in limbo – neighbors, but that's all. Not sure I want that."

"Uh huh. And just what is it you do want, kid?"

"Who knows? Except to invite you over for dinner tonight. Katniss brought me some blackberries and I'm going to make a dessert with them. So, join us, okay?"

"A dinner invitation, hmmm? With the two star-crossed lovers gone crazy? What could possibly be more entertaining than that?"

I get up to head home and start cooking. "See you in a couple of hours, Haymitch. And try not to be too drunk," I call over my shoulder as I head out.

"No promises!" he yells after me.

As I work in my kitchen, my mind is distracted by our conversation. It's true that some of the tension between me and Katniss has dissipated in the last several days. But it's also true that I have pretty much ignored any needs I may have for continuing my own recovery by getting back missing memories or finding answers to lingering questions. I have called Dr. Aurelius a few more times, just for regular check-in sessions. He seems pleased enough, but now that I think about it, I realize how consumed I've been with concern for Katniss. I've been focused on making sure she starts to get better, trying to not upset her in any way, treading carefully in her presence. That's fine, but I begin to wonder if I'm so focused on her needs and her stability that I'm neglecting my own.

True, I haven't had another episode in four or five days, and the last one was pretty tame compared to the day at the bakery. I had been waking from a fitful sleep, and somehow my sheet had wrapped itself around my arm and leg sufficiently that when I tried to move I felt restrained. Being only semi-awake, I had panicked, and had started to slide into another episode. My mind was immediately overrun with images of being strapped to a table while Snow watched as a doctor injected me with yet another syringe of tracker jacker venom. I was struggling against the sheet, muscles tensed, sweat starting to break out all over, when I looked over at my bathroom door and saw Katniss, decked out in her Mockingjay outfit, laughing. Only it seemed as if she was standing next to Snow, holding his arm, laughing at me as I writhed on the table, tilting her head toward his shoulder in an intimate way that immediately enraged me.

I had started to shout at them, straining to get free so I could strangle either one of them, when the sheet had worked itself loose enough for me to hurl myself out of the bed. Once I was standing, my eyes started working right again. I was disoriented, turning every direction to see where they had gone, when my mind finally caught up with my senses and I realized where I was. I managed to grip the sides of the dresser, breathing deeply, repeating to myself, "I am in my house. I am alone in my house. No one is here. I am safe." Finally, I had come out of it altogether, my body succumbing to the exhaustion as the adrenaline seeped away. Too nervous to go back to sleep, I had gone downstairs and made myself an enormous cup of coffee. After an hour or two, I had finally stopped shaking.

I hadn't had any episodes since. I still took medication each day, just in case, but my daily routine had become fairly stress free. The problem is, I'm starting to think that glossing over my unfinished business of sorting through the real and not real memories still in my head may not be such a good idea long term. That, and I'm kicking myself for being so wrapped up in Katniss once again that I don't think about my own needs. I know I care about her, and I know she is still a lot farther behind me on the road to recovery, but I can't let myself lose sight of me again, especially when I see no signs that she wants to be anything more than friends.

I'm preparing a shepherd's pie, salad and blackberry cobbler for dinner. I have a loaf of bread leftover from yesterday as well. I debated about whether or not to invite Sae to dinner, but decided that Haymitch, Katniss and I had not spent much time together lately, and I see Sae every morning at breakfast. I'm just starting to set the table when Katniss walks in.

"Hey. Smells good in here. What's for dinner?"

"That's for me to know and you to just enjoy. Want to help set the table?"

She rolls her eyes at me and I laugh in response, but she goes to get silverware out of the drawer. I like that she doesn't have to ask where it is, I muse to myself. We finish setting the table, I pull the cobbler out of the oven, and Haymitch stumbles into the house just as we're ready to sit down. He's not completely drunk, but he's definitely well on his way.

We sit down, and both of them are complimentary about the meal. Not surprising, since neither of them can really cook. But we talk about my work on the clean-up in town, laugh about Haymitch's gaggle of geese, wager about whether or not I'll have any success with the vegetable garden, and speculate about how many more people might resettle here before fall. It's simple, unimportant, trivial conversation, and at one point I find myself marveling at how normal it all feels. For just a few, glorious moments, it feels as if we might be regular people, not victors, not rebels, not anything more than neighbors. Of course, that's when he has to go and bring us back to reality.

I'm dishing the cobbler out and handing each of them a generous portion when Haymitch decides now is the perfect time to dispel any fantasies I may have about us being normal someday. Really, I wonder sometimes if he times things like this deliberately just for the fun of it.

"So, I heard from Effie yesterday."

Katniss freezes just as I'm handing her a plate of cobbler. Thankfully I have the presence of mind not to let go, as I'm pretty sure that would result in both of us wearing it, since her grasp on the plate fades even faster than the color from her face. Eager to prevent the evening from spiraling out of control, I respond quickly.

"Oh? How is she? Still in the Capitol? What's she up to these days?" I try to keep my tone intentionally light and conversational, as if we've just moved onto another inane topic in our long conversation of the perfectly routine. Haymitch, of course, either doesn't get or chooses to ignore the hint.

"Wanted to know how the two of you are gettin' along, now that you've finally been _reunited_."

I slowly set down the spatula I've been using to serve, as I am fighting a growing urge to inflict bodily harm on him. I glance at Katniss, who is staring straight ahead into nothing, not looking at either of us, still not moving. Haymitch is digging into his cobbler with fervor, but his face is expressionless. I can't decide where he's going with this, or why he's ruining a perfectly enjoyable evening.

"And?" Now it's my turn to be perturbed by his lack of details. But he's not even looking at me. He's looking right at her, waiting for her to look back. Slowly, she turns her head toward him, with a mixture of anger and terror on her face that makes me cringe.

"And, now that we're all one big happy family again, it won't be long before _they_ come snooping around. You need to be ready." His tone is quiet, serious and intentional in its warning.

I may as well not even exist at this point, because clearly this conversation is only for the two of them. Finally, she seems to find her voice. "But, why…?"

"Because, sweetheart, you're you, and he's him, and with the war over, _they_ need something to talk about."

I slam my fist on the table as I shout, "NO!" I surprise myself, and clearly the two of them, by my outburst. But there is a forcefulness in my tone that commands their attention as they both turn to look at me again. I feel much as I did when we learned of the Quarter Quell and I found the two of them drinking in Haymitch's kitchen. "No. We are not going to play that game anymore. And we do not need to 'be ready,' Haymitch. I don't care who asks, or who shows up, or who calls – the answer is no." And with that I sit down and start digging into my own cobbler. But not before I catch a glimpse of something in Katniss' eyes that makes me wish I could freeze time and stare at her to figure it out. But she looks away before I can be certain what I saw there.

Haymitch, however, is making no attempt to hide his stare. He continues to just watch me, perhaps curious to see if I'm about to relapse into another episode. When he finally speaks, I hear just a trace of respect in his voice that I realize now has been absent since my return.

"Right. Well, Effie can fend them off for a while, maybe a few weeks at most. But she can't hold 'em off forever. Just remember, it's Plutarch we're talkin' 'bout here. Now that he's in charge of _communications_ , he's not gonna just turn a blind eye to the story that propelled him all the way to the top of his particular mountain, is he? Damn reporters could show up any day and scare even more crap outta my geese. Can't have that!" He takes a final bite of his cobbler, pushes back his chair and gets up to leave. "Thanks for the dinner, kid. Though the _entertainment_ was a bit lacking." And with that he walks out.

Katniss and I sit in silence for a few minutes, not really eating, each of us lost in our thoughts. Until I realize my thoughts are mostly about trying to figure out what she's thinking. I grow increasingly uncomfortable with the silence, so try to lighten the mood. "Maybe next time we should invite the geese, instead."

Despite herself she laughs at this. It's short-lived, but so good to hear. I smile, and start to clear the table.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"You're welcome. I hope you liked the cobbler."

"No, not for the food. Thank you, for what you said."

Now it's my turn to be surprised. I stop and turn to look at her. She's still sitting at the table, but looking right at me now. "Uh, sure. I'm sorry if I startled you."

"No, Peeta, you didn't. It's just, well, the thought of reporters, cameras, being here again, trying to talk with me, with us. I just don't think I could handle it. I was just starting to…I mean, life is finally starting to seem…" She's clearly struggling to get her thoughts out, as she so often does.

"I know. I feel the same way. But we are not at their beck and call anymore, Katniss. We have the right to say no."

She smiles at me and nods her head. "All the same, you were always so much better at dealing with them. If it's okay with you, I'll just let you speak for both of us. I don't plan on having even that much of a conversation with them."

I laugh at the sudden image I get of Katniss delivering her answer to them via an arrow launched from her bedroom window. She looks at me quizzically, but I just shake my head and reply, "No problem. We should each stick to our weapons of choice." This totally confuses her, but rather than explain I take the opportunity to ask a question I've been wanting to ask for a couple of days.

"Speaking of which, I was wondering if you think you'll be hunting anytime soon. The market's got a few meats, but I was thinking how great it would be to have some fresh squirrel or rabbit again. Any chance you might be able to help me out with that?" I hadn't planned on broaching the subject with her so soon, but I know she had to have gone into the woods to get these blackberries. And I suspect that if she were to start hunting again she might start eating more and getting stronger. I start cleaning up dinner again to look as casual about it as I can while I wait for her answer.

She smiles again, and I'm secretly pleased that the evening didn't turn into a complete disaster thanks to Haymitch's antics. "As a matter of fact, I was thinking about heading out tomorrow morning. Funny you should ask." She's standing next to me at the sink now, putting her plate on the counter. She brushes up ever so slightly against my arm, and I immediately feel a tingling sensation pass from my arm into my chest. She lingers for only a second, then turns back to the table. I take a deep breath, not quite sure what to think, if anything, about what's just happened.

"That would be great. I can plan to cook up whatever you bring in for dinner tomorrow if you'd like." I'm silently urging myself to stay cool, act like this is no big deal.

"That sounds good. On one condition, though."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Haymitch and the geese stay home."


	15. A Big, Big Day

I am hunting. It takes almost an hour for that reality to sink in, it has been so long since I stole my way through a forest, assuming the role of predator instead of prey. At first it felt…foreign, as if I were trying on someone else's clothes. But as my hand molded itself to my bow, as my feet remembered their stealth-like gait, slowly, my mind recalled the activity from which I had derived sustenance for so long. Not just physical sustenance, but emotional, mental nourishment as much or even more.

I am hunting, and it feels like home.

I have not yet returned to my woods, the woods of my father, and Gale, and the lake. I know I am not ready. And the new woods I have been exploring are filled with unsuspecting creatures. Today I have actually ventured beyond the meadow for the first time. I am eager to expand my territory, to claim new land as my hunting ground. My first few attempts produced nothing more than frustrated growls on my part as my arrows flew just past their intended targets, scaring away two squirrels and a fox. Retrieving my fallen arrows, I chided myself for having allowed my signature skill to lapse so fully. But my competitive instincts kicked in, and after imposing target practice on myself to relearn my focus and aim, I'm stalking again. I can feel my readiness now, in the way my arms feel solid and confident with the arrow cocked. I can sense my eyes scanning more proficiently, eager to hone in on my next live target.

And then they do. Off to my right, I see a wild turkey waddling slowly, oblivious to my threat. Silently I position myself for the best angle. I set my stance and carefully draw my bow and arrow up and back. In my mind, everything drops away. There is only my arrowhead, the bird, and the straight line I can see with my mind's eye forming between them. The trees, the birds, the ground – all of it disappears as my eyes narrow and my deeply rooted instincts take over. Without cognizant thought, I slowly breathe out, and my arrow flies, its whisper of a hiss sailing through the air, until it sinks into its intended target exactly where it should. I smile with satisfaction, a feeling of accomplishment rising up to fill the void in my psyche that until this very moment I had not been aware even existed.

After retrieving my arrow and prize, I reload and start walking again, feeling an eagerness to continue to prove my prowess to myself and the trees observing me. With my first kill slung over my shoulder in my bag, I quickly begin acquiring and conquering more rewards – 3 squirrels, 2 rabbits, 5 pheasants and even a beaver I encounter at a stream I discover. All succumb to my rekindled archer's ability. As I finally begin to make my way back toward the meadow, back to home, I am keenly aware of my blood pumping through my veins with new vigor. The sunlight sparkling in the trees is not responsible for the warmth radiating in my soul. I feel as if part of me has awoken from a long, exhausting sleep.

It is mid-day when I emerge from the forest and make my way back to Victor's Village. I go to Peeta's house, slightly embarrassed by the eagerness I feel to show him my success, and let myself in as I knock. There are really no formalities among the three of us anymore. We come and go into each other's houses as if they were our own. One more step on our path to wherever it is we're going, I suppose.

"Peeta?" I call out for him, but am already confident he's not yet home. I hesitate for a moment as I go to the kitchen, dismissing my disappointment, but not entirely sure what to do. I realize that Peeta is most likely in town working on his crew, and am not entirely sure when he'll be home. Since he did offer to cook dinner tonight, I take 2 squirrels and the 2 rabbits out of my bag and leave them on the counter. I decide to take the rest to Sae – she certainly has earned it after preparing so many meals for me the past several months. I walk over to her place, and knock on her door. When she opens it, she looks me up and down, and I can tell she's pleased.

"Well, ain't this a sight for sore eyes. Hope you brought me somethin' good. It's been a long time comin', you know!" She's practically beaming, and I find myself laughing at her comments.

"Yes, Sae, it has. And yes, I brought you a lot of good things, I think. I hope you can use them."

"Can a miner use a headlamp? Don't you worry – Old Sae can use anything you wanna bring me."

We head to her kitchen, a small but tidy room, and I unload my game bag. She whistles when I pull out the wild turkey. "Girl, you keep bringin' in game like this, and the whole district'll be well fed!"

I smile shyly, and just say, "It was a good morning, Sae."

She asks what I'd like for dinner tonight, but I tell her I don't need dinner tonight. When she looks at me wondering why not, I make up something about having some leftovers from last night. I'm not sure why, but I don't want to tell her that Peeta and I are having dinner tonight. It's not really a secret, but it's not as if everyone needs to know, either, right?

We agree that I'll take one of the pheasants to Haymitch's house and leave it in the freezer, just in case he ever sobers up enough to cook for himself. I tell her goodbye and head over to his place. I call out his name as I walk in the door, and to my surprise, he's not only awake but coherent as well. We head into the kitchen so I can clean the bird for him.

"Brought you a pheasant, just in case you're awake long enough to cook for yourself one of these days," I tease him.

"Awww, ain't that special, sweetheart? What'd it do, make the mistake of landin' in your backyard?"

"No, I went hunting today."

He raises an eyebrow at me.

"What? It's what I do, Haymitch." I don't know why I sound defensive about it.

"No, it's what you _used_ to do. Big difference." He's scrutinizing me in that way he does and that makes me sure I'm not going to like what comes next. I look down, focusing on cleaning the bird. I can hear the grin on his face without even looking at him.

"So, the girl on fire is hunting again, hmmmm? I wonder why…" He straddles a kitchen chair, backwards, and grabs the open bottle off the table to take a drink. I'm still not looking at him, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"It's no big deal, Haymitch. It's not like I was never going to hunt again."

"Ha! No, it was more like you were never gonna do nothin' again, darlin'. Least, not 'til _he_ showed up."

I slam the knife I'm using on the bird down on the counter a little too hard. He's needling me, I know this, and yet I can't stop myself from reacting. "I don't know what you're talking about, Haymitch. This has nothing to do with Peeta."

"Like hell. Has everything to do with him and you know it. Even if you won't admit it. But that's fine. Take your time."

"Haymitch, there' nothing to admit. Peeta and I are just friends, just like you and I are friends. That's all."

"Uh huh. The day you two are _just friends_ is the day Johanna Mason is _just_ a girl with an axe. And who the hell said anything about you and me bein' friends? I'm _just_ your mentor." He's smiling with such satisfaction now that it takes all the self-restraint I have not to hurl the knife I'm holding at him.

"Clean your own bird, Haymitch."

He laughs at me as I walk out of his back door, slamming it behind me. I chastise myself for letting him get to me – after all, I should be used to this from him by now. He loves getting a rise out of me, just as he's done now. Someday, I tell myself, I'll learn to not give him the satisfaction. In the meantime, as I'm walking across his backyard toward my house while thinking about the pitcher of ice water I can throw on him the next time he's passed out, I stop short when I see two people walking up the street. I heard them before I actually saw them, but now I can't take my eyes off them.

Peeta and a girl I've never seen before are walking up the street together. They don't see me, as I'm across the street and in between my house and Haymitch's house. I take a few steps closer to my house so I can watch them less blatantly. But apparently it's not necessary to be discreet, as they are so enjoying one another's company that they appear to be oblivious to the rest of the world. They are talking and laughing and looking at each other and just so…relaxed with one another. I haven't seen Peeta like that since, well, I don't know how long. He seems totally comfortable, peaceful, happy. I cringe, as I feel something in the pit of my stomach that makes me ill at the sight. I don't recognize her – she's got red hair, is shorter than me, but doesn't look like Seam or anyone from District 12. They obviously know each other, and though I can't hear what they're saying, they are clearly having a fun conversation. She is constantly smiling at him, and suddenly I am struck by how rarely I think I have ever smiled like that. As I watch, they turn up the walk to Peeta's house, and he opens his front door, ushering her inside.

I am rooted to the ground, unable to move as I struggle to understand what's happening, and more importantly, why I feel so strange. That girl looked perfectly pleasant, clearly Peeta liked her, and yet I am overcome with certainty that I do not like her. I haven't even met her. And when I think about Peeta, how happy and carefree he looked just now, I should be happy for him. I mean, after all, he's my friend and I want him to be happy, right? But once again, his behavior is stirring up some pretty negative emotions for me. I'm trying to sort them out in my head when I hear a window slide open.

"So, maybe the three of you can be _just friends_ now, too."

He's laughing so hard that he almost doesn't have time to move out of the window frame fast enough to dodge the arrow I've launched directly at him. I hear it smash something inside the house. "Shit, Katniss! That just barely missed me!" he yells at my back as I'm walking into my house.

"It won't next time, I promise!" I yell back at him, just before I slam my own door.

Once I'm inside I slam my bow and quiver down on the kitchen table and stand there, frozen, fists clenched, trying to make sense of what is happening to me. I was having such a good day. But now I feel like I'm about to cry, and I'm not even sure why. Sure, Haymitch's comments put me on edge, but that doesn't explain the overwhelming feelings I'm having right now. I can't get the image of that girl out of my head. More accurately, I can't get the image of Peeta with that girl out of my head. Why am I so upset? Did I really think Peeta didn't know other people, other girls? He's talked about the friends on his crew. Why would I not think he would be meeting other girls, too?

And why do I care? After all, it's not as if we're together, at least, not in that way. And I've never wanted to get married, anyway. Peeta knows that. And after everything we've been through, it would be crazy to think we could ever be anything more than friends. After all, look at how long it's taken us just to get to this point.

But, after everything we've been through, I guess I didn't think it would be so easy for him to find someone, someone to be with in that way. Who can blame him though? It's not as if I can make him laugh like that. I know myself well enough. Why would he still want to be with me – someone who's moody, selfish, and can't even cook – when he can have someone who makes him laugh, wants kids, would help him create the kind of life he's used to?

So if he's found someone to give him all that, where does that leave me? I mean, not that I wanted to be with him in that way, but I had just started to get used to the idea of he and I spending time together again. If _she's_ around, well, there goes that. And where did she even come from? Who is she? How long have they known each other? Did she follow him up here from District 13? Or the Capitol? When was he planning on telling me about her? Was he even going to tell me?

My mind is racing with these thoughts, and I'm still standing in the kitchen, when an aggravating noise breaks my train of thought. I finally realize it's the phone ringing, and before I remember that I don't answer the phone, I've picked it up. Great. This day just gets better and better.

"Hello?" My tone is clearly communicating that this intrusion is not welcome. I can only hope that whoever is on the other end gets the message loud and clear before I hang up on them.

"Katniss! I wasn't sure you'd actually answer but thought I'd take a chance." It's Peeta. _Peeta?_ Why is he calling me? I don't say anything, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "I got the squirrels and rabbits – thanks! Guess you had a good day hunting, huh?"

Oh yeah. Hunting. The game I left at his house. "Uh, yeah." I'm still totally confused. Why is he talking to me if he's with _her_?

"That's great! Listen, about tonight…"

Now I get it. He's canceling. Something, or someone, better has come along and now he's canceling our dinner. Fine. Better this way. "What?" I ask when he doesn't say anything.

"Just wanted to know when you were coming over. How does 6:00 sound?"

I don't really hear him, as I'm expecting him to be making some excuse about why he has to cancel. "Fine, Peeta. Whatever."

"Good. That'll give me enough time to prepare. I have a surprise for you. I'll see you then. Bye, Katniss."

And he hangs up. Wait a minute. What just happened? He didn't cancel. We're still having dinner. But, what was that he said? A surprise? What kind of surprise? He knows I don't like surprises. What could it possibly be? And then my stomach sinks as I consider the possibility that _she_ might be the surprise. I mean, what else could it be? And now, I have to go to dinner at his house while all of these feelings are rolling around inside me. Ugh.

It's only 2:00, so I have about four hours to kill. I seriously consider going back out into the forest. But I'm so drained at this point, that I decide to just rest. Hopefully sleep will help calm me down for once. I should know better.

_I'm on the train, but I can't sleep. I'm tossing and turning, but no matter what I do I can't get comfortable, and can't shut my mind off from the images marching across it. Images of the Capitol, of Snow, of the arena, of the new Peacekeepers in District 12. I'm so, so tired. I just want to fall asleep. But I'm restless, worried and scared. I don't feel safe. I'm not sure where this train is taking me, but I know I feel uneasy about my destination._

_I can't stand it anymore. I know there's only one way I'll be able to relax enough to fall asleep. I get out of bed, pull a short, dark blue silk robe around myself, and head out into the hall. I don't have to go very far, as his room is just down the hall. I quietly turn the door handle, looking up and down the hall to be certain I'm not being seen, quickly step in to the dark room and silently close the door. As I turn to make my way over to his bed, I hear noises I am not expecting. I stop, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness, and realize that he's not alone._

_I'm mesmerized, wondering who in the world could be with him. I watch, mouth agape, as I see their bare legs entwine, tangling the sheets and exposing more and more of them. She is lying with her back toward me, and they are side by side, with him facing her. I watch his hands roam all over her naked body. He is moaning, and she is whimpering, and I am about to be sick at the sight. I want to run, but my feet won't move. I feel tears starting to drip down my face as I watch him with her. They are clearly pleasuring one another and seem oblivious to my presence._

_I unknowingly back into the door, which causes him to look up at me. But he doesn't take his hands off of her, and just looks at me with a wicked grin on his face. "Katniss. What are you doing here?" He's not angry or even embarrassed. If anything, he looks amused. "Come to watch, huh? Too bad you don't have someone to keep you company." And with that, he starts to kiss her again, burying his hand in her hair and his face in her neck._

_I turn, and start frantically trying to open the door, but it's locked from the outside and won't open now. I'm pounding on the door, screaming for someone to let me out, desperately trying not to overhear their rising cries of pleasure. I sink to the floor, crying, as he looks at me one more time, a taunting sneer on his face, and says, "This could have been you. But you wanted to be alone." He turns back to her as I hear myself screaming "PEETA!"_

I gasp for air as I sit upright in bed, waking with a start. I am sweating and shaking, and completely unsure of what has just happened. I quickly look around and confirm that I am not actually on a train. I wipe my face with my hands, then pull my knees up close, wrapping my arms around them, and rock back and forth as I try to calm myself down.

I have never had a dream like that. I'm so shaken I don't know what to do or think. I just keep rocking, pushing the memory of that scene away, as I try to cope with the implications of what's happened. Where did that come from? Peeta and I never did anything even close to that. I haven't thought about doing that with Peeta at all, at least not since I've been back here in District 12, and I'm pretty sure not even before that. I've never thought about doing those things with anyone, much less ever seen anyone doing them. And even though this dream didn't have blood and fangs and swords and death, it's still as if I've just awoken from one of my worst nightmares.

I feel like I am losing control, and I hate it. I hate that my feelings, once again, are getting the best of me. I hate feeling vulnerable, exposed, weak. I can't afford that – I won't let that happen. I don't know what my feelings for Peeta might be, or might have been, but I am confident they don't include what I saw in my dream. I'm practically repulsed by the images I still can't shake. I don't know where our recent friendship was heading, but it certainly isn't there. And Peeta would never taunt me like that, ever. No matter how upset I am, I know that with all my heart. Only in my own sick, twisted head could he ever do that. My sadness is quickly being replaced by anger, an emotion with which I am far more comfortable under the circumstances. At least with anger I can protect myself. I can insulate myself from all these other emotions that threaten to undo me. I can keep myself from ever being hurt like that.

I get out of bed, stripping as I walk, and immediately get in the shower. I want, no need, to wash away the remnants of that nightmare. So wrong in so many ways, I wonder what depraved mental disabilities lurk in my subconscious that it would conjure such a vile scene. I scrub myself, hard, everywhere, as if in doing so I can scrub that dream out of existence. When my skin is rubbed raw and almost burning from the heat of the shower, I get out and dry myself off. I get dressed, comb and dry my hair, and head downstairs. I look at the clock, and it's only 5:30, but I have no intention of waiting around. This day has definitely not gone as planned, but now I just want to get this over with.

I stride over to Peeta's house, but when I reach the door, I hesitate. Until a few hours ago, I would have just let myself in. But now, given everything else, I'm just not comfortable doing that. So, I knock on the door and wait. I don't hear anything at first, and am about to knock again, when I hear him come rapidly down the steps. He opens the door, and we both just stare at each other for a moment. He's standing there in sweatpants. Only sweatpants, and for a moment I wonder if I've interrupted him and the little red-headed tart in real life instead of my head. But then I notice his hair is dripping and he's holding a towel, clearly trying to dry his hair.

"Katniss! You're early!" He looks surprised, but then breaks into a huge grin. His blue eyes sparkle, and I have to pull my eyes away from his chest and stomach.

For the umpteenth time today I find myself caught off guard. "Uh, yeah, sorry. I can come back." I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, pulling me inside.

"No, no. It's fine. Just didn't expect you to knock, so figured it was someone else. Let me run upstairs and get dressed. I was just getting out of the shower. I'll be right back."

He closes the door behind us, gives me another quick smile, and takes the steps two at a time upstairs again. As soon as he's out of sight, I come to my senses again, and quickly look around for the red-headed girl. _So, he was expecting her instead, huh? At least she's not upstairs_ , I think to myself, but do not allow my mind to go any farther than that. Not sure what to do with myself, I walk into the living room and sit on the couch. Peeta returns in a few minutes, only now he's wearing jeans and a maroon t-shirt. He's combed his hair, though it's still wet, and he's smiling again.

"So, guess you're pretty hungry, huh? Glad I made dinner before I showered! Come on, let's eat."

He walks into the kitchen, and I get up to follow him. But I'm looking around as I go, wondering when I'm going to be introduced to my "surprise." He turns around and notices me gazing around distractedly, and asks, "Katniss? Do you need something?"

I look at him, not sure what to think yet, and just shake my head. "No, I'm coming."

When I get to the kitchen, I look around and see that the table is set. But it's only set for two. I must frown, because then he asks, "Katniss, what's the matter with you?"

I look at him, and he's got a look of concern on his face that just confuses me even more. _What is going on here_ , I wonder to myself. I'm so confused I just decide to wait it out and see what happens. "Nothing, Peeta, nothing's wrong. So, what's for dinner?"

He looks at me carefully, but decides not to pursue it for the time being. "Well, thanks to you, we're having rabbit and squirrel stew, glazed carrots, rice and bread, of course." He starts to pull some dishes out of the oven and put them on the table.

"Sounds great. Thanks for cooking."

"My pleasure, Katniss. Thanks for supplying the main dish! Why don't you get us some water while I finish putting things on the table?"

We both work to put dinner on the table, and soon we're sitting down to eat. We don't say much as Peeta serves us. Even though the food looks and smells delicious, I guess it's obvious that something is still on my mind, because before we start to eat, Peeta puts his fork down and looks at me.

"Ok. Spill it. What's with you? Did something happen while you were out hunting today?"

I almost spit the water out that I'm drinking, but manage to swallow it first. "No, Peeta, nothing happened while I was hunting. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you just seem upset about something. What's on your mind?"

"I'm fine, really. How was your day?" I refuse to tell him what's on my mind because I want to hear how he was planning on telling me about her. Obviously, he thought better of having her meet me first, since she's not here now. He must have figured out that it would be easier to tell me about her and then have us meet. So, I'm waiting for him to get to the point of our dinner. After all, this was his idea. He must have been planning this. He doesn't look convinced by my reply, but he starts eating and talking about his day anyway.

"Good, actually. Blane and I worked a lot together today, and he's got a great sense of humor. The clean-up is almost done, and Thom is starting to plan out the rebuilding efforts."

He keeps talking, but I'm not really listening. I'm getting more and more agitated, anticipating the conversation when he finally gets around to her. I'm poking at my food, not really having an appetite with all this angst building up. Finally, I just can't take it anymore and interrupt him.

"Peeta, what's going on? Why am I here?"

He looks totally taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought we agreed to have dinner tonight?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Well, what do you mean, then?"

I'm frustrated that he's making this so hard. "I mean, why did you invite me over? What's the big surprise you have for me?"

He bursts out laughing at this, and that is certainly not the reaction I was expecting. I look at him like he's crazy, and he chokes back his laughter to try to speak. "Is that, that's what, you want to know what your surprise is? That's why you're acting so weird?"

He pushes back his chair from the table, shakes his head and walks over to the oven again. "It's certainly not that big of a deal, Katniss, but if it'll make you stop acting like this, then fine, you can see them now."

I get up to follow him, completely at a loss as to what he's talking about. He opens the oven and takes out a baking pan filled with what looks like a small, chocolate cake.

"Here's your big surprise…they're called brownies. I learned how to make them in the Capitol, and thought you might like them. It's dessert, Katniss. That's the surprise." He's still laughing, watching me stare at the brownies.

I look up at him, and back down at the pan, but my quivering lips start to betray me. _He's not even going to tell me about her_ , I think. I don't know what kind of game he's playing, but I'm so upset I don't know whether to cry or start throwing things. He must see the look on my face because his laughter stops abruptly and he sets the pan down on the stove.

"Katniss, what's…" But that is as far as he gets before his front door slams open. We both look in that direction, startled by the sudden intrusion, only to see Haymitch walking toward us holding something out. He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and tosses my arrow on the counter.

"Here, sweetheart, wanted to return this so you could put it to better use than takin' potshots at me." He's got a sly grin on his face, and I'm starting to fume just at the sight of him. His timing could not be worse, and I wonder if that's intentional on his part.

"Haymitch, what are you talking about? How did you end up with one of Katniss' arrows?" Peeta is looking at both of us, trying to figure everything out, and growing frustrated by the tone of his voice.

"Why don't you ask her, kid? She's the one who shot it at me."

Peeta looks at me astounded. "You shot an arrow at Haymitch? Why?"

"He deserved it." My voice is low and threatening, and I see Haymitch's smile falter just a bit.

"OK, why did he deserve it? Katniss?" Peeta takes a step toward me, still not sure what to make of all this. But Haymitch just can't leave it alone. He's having too much fun, at my expense.

"What? Just because I suggested that you might make some new _friends_?"

The way he emphasizes the last word, with a laugh starting to escape him at the same time, sends me over the edge. I throw myself at him, fully intent on pummeling his face with my fists, when I feel myself suddenly weightless, restrained by an arm around my waist. I'm kicking and screaming about how much I'm going to hurt him, and he's giddy with glee watching the spectacle of Peeta trying to hold me back.

"HAYMITCH! LEAVE! NOW! OR SO HELP ME I'LL LET HER GO!" Peeta is bellowing louder than I've ever heard him in order to be heard over my screams and Haymitch's laughter. Haymitch holds up his hands in surrender, saying, "Ok, ok, I'm going. Just hold her long enough for me to lock my door. And have fun with that, kid. Friends, ha!"

He finally leaves, slamming the door behind him as he goes. Peeta walks around the kitchen and plops me on the counter, planting his hands on either side of my legs, and standing directly in front of me so that we're practically eye to eye. He does not look happy.

"Alright, Katniss. Enough. What is going on? What was all that about? We are not moving from this spot until you explain."

I fold my arms over my chest and avoid his eyes. I'm angry, embarrassed and confused, not a good combination, and certainly not conducive to communicating. But Peeta won't take silence for an answer.

"I mean it, Katniss. Either tell me what's going on or I will carry you right over to Haymitch's house and get his version. Your choice." His tone is insistent, and I don't think he's bluffing. That prospect is not at all appealing.

"It's all your fault, anyway."

This takes him by surprise. "My fault? How is any of this my fault? I have no idea what's going on!"

And suddenly, everything is just too much to hold in any longer. The image of him walking with her, the teasing from Haymitch, the dream, the surprise that wasn't really a surprise, or _the_ surprise…I can't keep all the emotions in check anymore. "Because, if you had been more discreet, if you hadn't been out there for the whole world to see the two of you together, if you had just told me before you went off and got involved with someone, none of this would have happened!" I yell at him, and try as I might, I can't stop the single tear from betraying the hurt behind the anger.

He is stunned silent. He's looking at me, confusion and concern equally apparent on his face, trying to process what I've just spewed at him. But when he talks, his tone is much softer and gentler. "Katniss, I don't understand. Please, tell me what you are talking about."

"I saw you, Peeta. I saw you and her, today, outside, coming here. And it's fine, really. But you could have at least told me."

It is only because I'm glaring at him now that I see it. The dawning recognition. The clarity that comes with understanding something that has eluded you. For a brief moment I feel a fleeting satisfaction, knowing that he now knows his secret is out, that he's been caught. But it passes quickly as a smile begins to spread across his face, deep and broad. Not a taunting, teasing smile, but a genuine, happy smile.

"Katniss, do you mean Annaliese?" His tone is still soft and gentle, if slightly bemused. It should be awkward, embarrassed, even apologetic. But it's not, and I'm irritated by that.

"Oh, is that her name? The little red-head goes by Annaliese, does she?"

He chuckles softly now, and I am seriously considering redirecting my attack, when he says, "Yes, the little red-head is Annaliese, Haymitch's new housekeeper. The one I hired to clean his house, and the one I was paying today when you saw us."

He doesn't take his eyes off me as he says this, nor does he move his position in the slightest. Now it is my turn to process, and his turn to watch the look of emerging comprehension cross my face.

"You mean, you're not? I mean, she's only? His _housekeeper_?"

"Yes, Katniss. Just his housekeeper. Red-heads have never been my type." And there is now just a hint of smugness in his smile.

I want to shrink to the size of an ant and scurry out of here as quickly as I can. "Oh," is all I can manage to say, very softly. I look down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. This is so humiliating.

"So, now that we've cleared that up…" and he uses one finger to lift my chin so that we're looking into each other's eyes once again. "You still haven't told me why you shot an arrow at Haymitch."

Haymitch! That jerk! He knew. He knew who she was, and yet he still teased me about her anyway. I can't wait to get my hands on him!

"Oh no, none of that. You are not going after him again. At least, not until after you tell me what happened in the first place." He's chuckling again now, clearly enjoying my discomfort. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for my explanation. How did I get myself into this?

"Well, he was being, you know, typical Haymitch. He was teasing me, and I just wanted to make him stop."

"Teasing you about what?" he asks patiently.

_Think fast_. "About hunting again."

He looks at me now with a discerning look. He's still leaning into me, sitting on the counter, and I am acutely aware of how close we are. "Hmmm. Seems like a lot of fuss for just a little teasing about… _hunting_." He's leaning even closer now, and I feel heat generating but I'm not sure from where. "And what does… _hunting_ …have to do with making friends?"

He so doesn't believe me. I don't have any creative answers for that one. The embarrassed smile that creeps across my lips now is apparently answer enough for him.

"So…" he looks right in my eyes. "Shall we?"

I swallow, hard, unsure what his invitation conveys. "Shall we what?" My voice is barely audible.

"Shall we…finish dinner?" And with that, he grins broadly again, and walks back over to the table, leaving me on the counter.

What a day.

* * *


	16. Forward and Back

As I walk home from town I can't keep the smile off my face. It's been a few days since our dinner together, _the_ dinner, the night that I started to think that maybe, just maybe, things could be good.

Katniss was jealous, and it was so cute.

I laugh to myself as I walk, remembering that evening. It had taken every ounce of self-control I had not to kiss her as she sat on my counter, but I knew it would be worth it. Holding back – questions, desires, touches – has been hard, but she's finally starting to let her guard down around me, and I'm enjoying seeing it happen. We haven't talked about it since, of course. That would be unlike her – to actually talk about it directly. But I can tell I'm on her mind. I catch her watching me now – she tries to look away, but I know she's staring. We eat every dinner together now, and she even smiles more.

Because she's hunting again I don't see her in the morning anymore. She's always out of the house before dawn, and I'm usually baking anyway. But sometimes we'll see each other around lunch, and again in the evening. Haymitch has been pretty absent, but I've checked on him a couple of times, dropping off baked goods or extra servings of whatever we've made for dinner.

The guys on my crew have been commenting on my good mood, but I haven't shared anything with them yet. As good as this feels, this "getting along" stage we're in, I'm still not sure where this is going. And I know Katniss values her privacy. I don't want to risk setting us back by talking about her with the guys, though I wouldn't mind having someone to talk to, even though I'm not entirely sure what I would say. Somehow, I just don't think anyone but Haymitch can quite grasp how big of a deal it would be if I were to tell them "Katniss is talking to me and smiling." After all, it's possible some folks still think we're married.

I'm close to my house when I see her walking toward me, carrying her game bag, bow and arrows. "Hey, Katniss. How was hunting today?"

"Fine. Good, I guess." She's frowning and seems bothered for some reason.

"Really? Doesn't seem like it. What's on your mind?"

"Greasy Sae says she can't keep taking this much game each day. She wants me to give it to other people."

I'm not sure I see the problem, but clearly Katniss is perturbed about this. "Well, come on in and we can talk about it over lunch."

"Okay."

We head inside to the kitchen, where Katniss drops her game bag after handing me a rabbit and a squirrel she's already cleaned and gutted. I put the meat away, then start heating up some soup from yesterday and making a salad for us to share.

"So, I'm sure there would be plenty of folks in town who would love some fresh game." I'm not sure what her concern is, but figure this is a safe way to invite her to tell me what's on her mind.

"Peeta, I don't know any of the folks in town."

Hmmmm. Still not seeing it.

"Well, I know you haven't really met anyone yet, but this might be a good way to meet some."

She scowls at me now, not seriously, just consternated. "I don't think so."

"Why not? Everyone knows you're a great hunter. And while Mr. Landry's market is meeting a lot of basic needs for people, there's still a shortage of good meat. Especially fresh. I'm sure everyone would appreciate anything you could offer, and this would give you a chance to get to know some of the people who are here now." Seems logical enough to me.

"You don't understand," she mutters, almost to herself.

Nope, I don't. But I'm guessing this isn't really about meeting people. I move toward her and place my hand gently on hers, which is sitting on the counter. She stares at our hands, surprised. This is the first time I've done anything like this, and I try not to be distracted by the softness of her hand, the warm sensation it's causing in my fingers, or the look on her face.

"So help me understand. What's really bothering you about this, Katniss?" I say softly, encouraging her to open up to me.

She doesn't respond immediately, still looking at our hands, but I don't make a move. I'm learning that Haymitch's long-term advice, to wait and give her time, almost always works.

She speaks so softly I almost can't hear her. "I just can't. I can't face them, Peeta. I haven't even been to town yet. I don't think I could take it."

Aha. Now I get it. I had assumed Katniss had not gone to town because she simply didn't want to be bothered, or because she just didn't need the same amount of social interaction that most of us do to be happy. But it's clear now that she's afraid, and feeling guilty, even though I know she has no reason to be either of those.

"Katniss," I respond gently, "no one blames you for what happened."

She pulls her hand back now, withdrawing back into her protective shell. "You don't know that! How could they not? If I hadn't…"

But I cut her off, refusing to let her go there, or to withdraw too far. "If you hadn't done everything you did then nothing would be different, _better_ , now. And they know that. Besides, if they were going to blame you then they would also blame me, and I've been going to town for weeks. No one has thrown anything at me yet." I try to lighten the tone just a bit, but she's not buying it.

"Of course they don't blame you, Peeta. It's not the same, and you know it. Everyone loves you."

 _Everyone?_ I think to myself, and it's so tempting to say it out loud, but I bite my tongue and force myself not to smile. Now is not the time. Instead, I seize the opportunity to try something with her.

"Katniss, this is your home. Real or not real?" She's slightly startled by the question, but doesn't dismiss it.

"Real."

"And part of the reason you fought was for the chance to make a better life for everyone. Real or not real?"

She's squirming now. "Peeta, where are you going with this?"

"Just answer. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"You never intended for the people of District 12 to get hurt. You didn't drop the bombs here. Real or not real?" In the corners of my mind I glimpse a shiny image of Katniss ordering the bombing, but I push it away before it can truly form. I have to be careful here – I don't want to trigger an episode for myself. But I also need her to start coming to terms with her past, and not holding herself hostage so much.

She's looking down now, visibly uncomfortable. I know she doesn't like talking about these things, but I wait patiently for her to respond anyway. Finally, she admits,"Real."

"So, if you know these things are real, and I know these things are real, then is it so hard to believe that others would also?"

"Maybe, but Peeta, they weren't there. They don't know. All they saw was a made-up girl causing trouble, breaking rules and ultimately bringing harm to a whole lot of innocent people. They must hate me. I would."

Will she ever stop being so hard on herself? It was bad enough when she was younger and took the weight of being the sole provider for her family on her shoulders. Now, it seems she's taken the weight of all of District 12 and possibly all of Panem on them as well. How do I get her to see that she is not the object of anyone's wrath anymore?

"Katniss, listen to me. You can't avoid going to town forever. Besides, I know you've already been to town once, or at least the outskirts of it, remember?" She knows I'm referring to the time she trailed me and Sae to the market, the day she disappeared for hours and then helped me in the garden. Then another thought occurs to me. "And besides, don't you have to go through town to get to the woods when you go hunting?"

She gets an odd look on her face at that question, and I'm intrigued. "Um, no, actually. I, uh, I go a different way."

I'm tempted to get sidetracked down that rabbit trail, but opt to hold that for a different conversation. Instead, I decide to extend an invitation that I hope will help her confront these current demons she's struggling with. "I have an idea. After lunch, let's go for a walk, together, into town. I can show you some of the progress we've made so far, and I can even introduce you to a couple of people. We won't stay long, I promise. What do you say?"

She's chewing on her bottom lip, a sure sign that she's debating something in her head. I hold my breath, hoping that she doesn't feel I've pushed her too far. But I'm convinced that if she could just talk to a couple of people, it would put her mind at ease that they don't see her as the outcast she thinks she is. Admittedly, I'm also happy about the idea of spending more time together this afternoon.

"Fine. But not long. And if I take off and leave you standing in the middle of town, don't blame me."

I laugh. "Fair enough. But I might just catch you, you know." I know the implication of what I've just said, but she either doesn't pick up on the double meaning, or chooses to ignore it. We finish eating our soup and salad, and clean up the dishes together. She leaves her gear in my kitchen as we head out of the house toward town.

It's a sunny day with a light breeze, blue sky and just the occasional cloud passing by. It's beautiful. And as we make our way out of Victor's Village and toward town, I can't help but feel some pride about what Katniss is about to see, apparently for the first time. The clean-up crews have finished clearing away the debris, and have actually started some of the rebuilding efforts. Thom has been busy coordinating plans, schedules and supplies, and has mapped out an aggressive but doable plan for rebuilding into the Fall. One crew has already begun working on the new school, another is repairing and improving the town square, which will include a fountain, a large green, and a good-size gazebo that can function as a stage for town-wide events. Two crews are working on houses in the area that used to be the Seam, and my crew is finishing up repairs to the existing retail shops, with plans to build new ones as soon as that's finished. The justice building is a long-term project slated for next Spring, mostly due to a shortage of available materials for a project that size.

So, as we make our way into town, there are a lot of construction noises and people walking around. I can tell Katniss feels nervous, as she's going very slowly, and doesn't really make eye contact with anyone. I'm pointing things out to her as we walk, helping to acclimate her to the new structures and identifying who's living where as I can. We make our way to the market first, as I've gotten to know Nigel Landry fairly well with all my trips to buy supplies. He's alone behind the counter when we come in.

"Hello! Hello, Peeta! Didn't expect to see you again this soon! Need something in particular today?"

"Hi, Nigel. No, I'm fine, actually. Katniss and I were just out for a walk, and I thought I'd bring her by to see your store."

At the mention of Katniss' name, Nigel turns to her and recognition instantly crosses his face. He stands up a little straighter, and before she knows what's happening, he's grasped her hand in both of his.

"Miss Everdeen, it is a pleasure and an honor to finally meet you."

I'm torn between grinning in triumph and fearing that his greeting is going to be enough to send her fleeing to the woods. She's clearly caught off guard by his welcome, but to her credit, manages to stifle her instinct to yank her hand out from his. I think I'm the only one of the two of us who noticed, as he seems to be completely in awe of her.

"Um, thank you. Please, call me Katniss."

He is grinning like a school boy now. "Very well, Miss Katniss. Please, if there is anything I can do for you, anything at all that you need, you let me know. Some groceries, perhaps? I have a fresh batch of eggs."

Katniss looks at me, pleading with her eyes, clearly overwhelmed by his outgoing, friendly response. She manages to extricate her hand from his, and almost imperceptibly takes a step back, trying to position me between the two of them. I take the hint, and step in on her behalf.

"Nigel, thanks so much. But I think Katniss is all set for now. Sae has been keeping her house pretty well stocked. We really just wanted to come by and say hi while we were out."

He looks at me as if he'd temporarily forgotten I was even there, but then smiles broadly again. "Of course, of course. Please, drop in any time. I am at your service, both of you."

"Thank you, we will. Good to see you again, too. Have a great day, Nigel." I turn and steer Katniss out of the door with my hand on her back. Once we are a few steps away from the store, I turn to look at her face to see how she's doing. She looks a bit shell shocked and confused. Not the reaction she was expecting, clearly.

"He's a nice man, Nigel. Seemed okay with you being there, too." My understatement is not lost on her.

"Hmph. I don't remember him – is he from another district?"

She's got to find some way to explain why he doesn't hate her, doesn't she? "No, actually. He's from 12. Used to live in the Seam and work in the mines, too, but always wanted to own a shop. Now he can." There is a method to my madness in taking her to meet Nigel first. I knew for a fact that he is one person whose life improved tremendously due to the rebellion, even if he did lose a brother and wife in the bombing.

She looks at me carefully now, and I can almost see the doubts rising from her mind like little puffs of smoke. "He's not the only one, Katniss. I told you. They don't hate you. Come on. Let's see some more." I hold out my hand to her without even thinking. When I realize what I'm doing, I almost take it back, but I see her look at my hand and then tentatively reach for it. I give her hand a gentle squeeze, and we continue walking, hand-in-hand. I am trying very hard not to let her see the joy that is radiating from my heart right now. Almost as hard as I am trying to not let this small gesture go to my head – either one of them.

We make our way toward the town square and other shops. I'm looking for my crew. She's heard me talk about them a few times, so I figured they would be a good group to meet next. I catch sight of them finishing up at the store we worked on this morning – we were patching the roof and replacing a window at the only clothing shop in town. I lead Katniss over toward them, eager to make introductions.

"Hey guys!"

They look up, grinning as they realize who's called out to them, and all four quickly look to Katniss, curious as to who I'm bringing along. They come toward us, sweaty and hot, removing their work gloves as they close the distance between us.

"Guys, I'd like you to meet Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, these are the guys."

Hasmik, the oldest of the bunch, steps forward first, hand outstretched. I let go of Katniss' hand so she can shake his. "Hello, dear. It's wonderful to finally meet you. My name is Hasmik, and may I just say, you are even more beautiful in person."

Katniss smiles shyly in return, glancing at me quickly. Blane greets her next.

"Hey, Katniss. Nice to meet you. I was starting to wonder if the Mockingjay flew the coop, so to speak!" He's laughing at his own joke, and thankfully doesn't notice the strained look on Katniss' face at the mention of her old nickname. As much as I usually enjoy Blane's sense of humor, I decide now may not be the best time for it and jump in to introduce my other workmates.

"Katniss, this is Rowan and Nate, they're from District 13." They both wave at the sound of their name, indicating who's who. But as I mention District 13, I can sense more than see Katniss stiffen, and quickly glance from them to her and back again. They are both unusually quiet, and for a moment I'm concerned I've overlooked something important in bringing them together.

"So, this is Katniss. You're smaller than I thought you'd be." There's nothing insulting about Nate's tone, it's pretty matter-of-fact, but nonetheless, I'm instantly wary of the exchange. I'm not sure where he's going with that comment, and given Katniss' fears, I'm not sure we want to find out. But before I can say anything, Rowan is chiming in.

"Nah, that was probably just that ridiculous suit they made her wear, Nate. You're right though, she looks a lot less menacing in person than in those propos."

Ugh. This is not good at all. Having spent time with them each day, I guess I'm used to their honest, open communication. But I didn't plan on Katniss' former role being the topic of conversation right now, and can tell that she is practically ready to bolt at this point. Thankfully, Thom walks up and joins us, giving me a much needed diversion.

"Hey, Peeta. Glad I caught you."

"Thom! Hi! Me too – I'd like you to meet Katniss. I was just introducing her to the guys."

Thom looks from me to Katniss, and his eyes soften immediately with concern. "Hello, Katniss. It's good to see you. I take it you're feeling better?"

Katniss and I both give Thom a quizzical look. He immediately seems uncomfortable, and stammers, "I, uh, mean, well, we haven't seen much of you since, you know. So I figured…well, it's just good to see you out and about."

I've never seen Thom so flustered before. I'm trying to make sense of it, when Katniss finally speaks for the first time since we walked up.

"I recognize you. You were friends with…," but she doesn't finish that thought.

Thom looks up at her, having been staring at his shoes and fidgeting with the papers in his hands, and says, "Yeah, we were friends. But I haven't heard from him since I came back. How is he?"

Katniss is starting to shake, though I don't think anyone else sees it. I take a step closer to her, so we're just barely touching, and address Thom.

"So, Thom, you said you were glad you caught me. Was there something you needed?" I don't know what he wants, but I do know that I may only have seconds before Katniss decides this was the worst idea ever and makes good on her promise to leave me in the middle of town. We have to get out of here.

Thom turns his attention back to me and regains his usual easy-going style. "Oh, yeah. Well, you know we're about finished with the repairs, right? So, we want to get started on the new buildings. Wanted to talk with you some more about the bakery."

Thom and I had been discussing the possibility of rebuilding the bakery for about a week now. I hadn't said anything to Katniss yet, because I was still thinking it over. She turned to me now, though, clearly wanting to know what he meant.

"The bakery? Are you going to reopen the bakery?" Her tone is a mix of incredulity, surprise and accusation. I'm now getting strange looks from the rest of the guys on the crew.

"I was thinking about it, yes. Why, Thom? What's up?" I try to deflect Katniss by shifting the focus back to Thom. I do not want to have this conversation with her in front of an audience, especially the guys I work with every day. They would definitely _not_ understand the dynamics of that discussion.

"Well, we had planned on building the butcher shop first, but I just learned that District 10 – which supplies the meat for Panem now – won't be ready to keep all the districts consistently supplied until next year, most likely. It seems silly to build a butcher shop that may not have anything in it. So, I was thinking we could move the bakery up on the list of priorities, if you're interested, of course, and maybe even have it ready by early fall."

Wow. My own bakery. I guess it hadn't really sunk in yet. Not sure how I feel about this, really. I mean, I had been leaning toward doing it, but it was going to be next Spring before it would be ready. Plenty of time to adjust and plan and everything. But this is fast. I need some time to think about it, and clearly I need a chance to bring Katniss up to speed, too.

"Wow, thanks, Thom. Can I think about it for a day or two?"

"Oh, sure. But don't thank me. With more and more folks coming back to 12, we need as many food sources as possible. If you're willing, I know a bakery will come in mighty handy come winter."

"Right. I promise I'll get back to you tomorrow or the next day, alright?"

"Sounds good." He turns his attention back to Katniss, and I'm really hoping he doesn't ask about Gale again. "Katniss, it's really great to see you. I hope we'll see more of you around here from now on. I know everyone's been worried about you."

This, at last, completely disarms her. She looks at Thom, then at the rest of the guys who are now all nodding in agreement, and smiles as she lowers her head. "Thank you."

That's our cue, so I say goodbye to everyone, and start walking toward the town square, and back toward home. Katniss is quiet for a few minutes, and I don't want to pry until she's ready. There are so many possible things she could start with, I decide to just let her pick which one is first and foremost in her thoughts. Not surprisingly, she starts with the bakery.

"When were you going to tell me?" There's a clear message in her tone – Katniss does not like feeling like I'm keeping secrets from her, and I can tell she's making an effort not to overreact given the misunderstanding about Annaliese the other day. Thom's question to her about Gale has already got me worrying about how I'm going to tell her about my visit from him, if and when the time comes. I'm sincerely hoping it's not today. We haven't spoken about Gale at all, not once. I have no idea how she's feeling or what she's thinking about him, though I suspect she's doing both on some level. I know I'll have to tell her at some point, but I am not at all ready to take that on right now. Thankfully, she's not asking me to. I choose my words carefully to answer her question about the bakery.

"I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner. Really, we had only talked about it briefly, especially since it wouldn't have even been started for several more months. But I do want to know what you think. I have conflicting thoughts about doing it, and would really like to talk it through with you."

She doesn't say anything for a minute or two as we keep walking. I'm nervous about her silence – I don't want the idea of my opening a bakery to upset her somehow. But I'm also growing more excited as I think about the possibility of having my own shop, being able to help feed the town, and spending time doing something I find so satisfying.

"I think you should do it."

That's unexpected. "Really? Why?"

"You're a great baker, Peeta. And you love doing it. This is a chance for you to do something that makes you happy. You should do it." She's not looking at me while she's talking. As much as I'm encouraged by her words, there's something just beneath them that troubles me. I reach out for her arm to get her to stop.

"Katniss, look at me." She stops and turns, but still looks down at the ground. "I hear what you're saying, but why won't you look at me?"

She looks up at me then, but her look is defiant, guarded. There's a definite disconnect between what she's saying and feeling, as her face clearly broadcasts. She never was able to disguise her emotions, for which I am frequently grateful. Though I do swallow a sigh before it escapes my throat – trying to keep up with her constantly changing feelings can be draining, I have to admit. I wonder how she manages not to be exhausted all the time.

"Come on, tell me what you really think."

She shrugs, and tries to play it off. "Nothing, really. You should do it. Open the bakery, and spend your days feeding the district. Everyone will really appreciate it, and you'll be happy."

Hmmmm. I wonder. "And what will you be doing while I'm 'feeding the district', as you put it? Would that make you happy?"

For just a split second I see it – the wounded look she so desperately wants to hide. It's quickly replaced by anger, and her failing attempt at sarcasm. "Who knows? With you at the bakery, and no need to hunt, and Haymitch passed out all the time, I suppose Buttercup and I will find ways to pass the time. Haven't had much time in my rocking chair lately."

I can't help feeling just a bit pleased with myself – I really am learning to read her well. She turns from me and starts stomping back toward home. I jog a few steps to catch up, quickly evaluating my options for how to play this.

"Well, I suppose Buttercup would enjoy some quality time with you, seeing as how close the two of you are." She shoots a glare at me, and I take the opportunity to smile reassuringly at her. Doesn't seem to have an impact though, so I change tactics.

"Katniss, slow down. I can't keep up with you at this pace!"

Reluctantly she slows her steps, though she's still seething. My mind is racing, trying to find the right words to get us back on track, when pieces start to come together in my head.

"Why do you say there's no need for you to hunt?"

She sighs loudly, conveying her exasperation with me. "I told you. Greasy Sae can't keep taking all the game I can bring in."

"Okay. And you don't want to give it to other folks in town?"

"It's not that I don't want to. I just…don't want to."

Whatever that means. "Well, what if there was another way?"

"Another way for what, Peeta?"

"Another way for you to keep hunting, have what you bring in get to the folks in town, but not with you having to do it directly?"

She stops now, and I can see both frustration and curiosity battling for dominance in her face. "Spit it out, Peeta. What are you getting at?"

Now I really have to think fast, as I've only had about 30 seconds to piece this together. "Well, I was just thinking about something Thom said – about how the town needs as many food sources as possible."

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, there aren't exactly a ton of hunters flocking to 12, Katniss. You could really help out by continuing to hunt and bringing in fresh meat. Especially given what he also said about District 10 not really being able to supply the whole country until next year."

"Yes, but, I don't want to traipse around town, trying to find people I don't know to take the game I catch."

"That's not what I was thinking. What if there was another place for people to get food, including the game you catch? What if you gave it to Nigel to see in his market? Or, better yet, what if there was a place people could come for a meal, like a restaurant?"

She laughs out loud at this – not a humorous laugh, a ridiculing laugh, clearly dismissive of the idea. "A restaurant? Here? You've got to be kidding."

But actually, as I've been thinking it out as I talk, I'm starting to get a picture in my head that makes more and more sense to me. "No, Katniss, I'm not kidding. Listen, what if, right next to my bakery, there was another shop – not a shop, more like a café? Somewhere people could stop in to get a quick bite to eat? You could supply the game they used, I could supply the bread, they could get a lot of things from Nigel's market. I think it could be great. We just need to find someone who loves to cook and might be available to run the place."

As I've been talking, her eyes have relaxed a bit. She's gnawing on her bottom lip again, and I find my gaze lingering there, wanting to know what they feel like, imagining running my thumb along their chapped ridges, tilting her head up towards mine as I lean down…

"Sae."

That knocks the image out of my brain fast enough. "Huh? What?"

She's looking at me know, a determined countenance having replaced her earlier frustration and ridicule. "Greasy Sae. She used to run a food counter in the Hob. I would sell her some of the game I caught before. She could do what you're talking about."

And suddenly I am very enthusiastic. I know this could work. "Absolutely! Why didn't I think of that? She's perfect. She knows how to make all the right foods, we don't need her cooking for us anymore, she's got her granddaughter to look after and think about – Katniss, this is perfect! She could run a café next to the bakery, and you could hunt to provide it with all the meat she can handle. We could even order a big freezer from the Capitol so she can stock up before winter."

I'm so excited that I grab her by her waist, pick her up and twirl her around. And suddenly I'm surrounded by snow, and reporters, and Katniss and I are laughing and spinning and ending up on the ground. I freeze, still holding her up, and slowly set her down. My face must betray my confusion, because she's looking at me with a lot of concern and uncertainty.

"Peeta? Peeta? What is it?" I can hear the quiver in her voice.

"We've done that before. Real or not real?"

She's just looking at me now, not moving, not answering. But I'm jarred by that memory for some reason, and I have to know.

"Katniss, answer me! We've done that before, in the winter time. Real or not real?"

She looks at me, and I see sadness creep into her eyes, pulling the corners of her mouth down just enough to be noticeable. "Real, Peeta. Real." She's practically whispering now.

"Thanks. I don't remember, really. Just an image that flashed in my head. We were spinning, laughing, there was snow, and a lot of people around us."

She looks away, solemn. "It was right before we left for the Victory Tour. Outside our two houses."

The memory seems happy, but her demeanor suggests that there's more to it than that. Before I can ask, however, she's started walking off again.

"Katniss, wait – please." She stops, but doesn't turn around.

"Please, I need to ask you about this. You're the only one who can help me understand. That memory seemed happy, and it wasn't shiny, and you said it was real. So, why does it make you sad?"

"It doesn't make me sad."

Yeah, right. "Katniss, don't. Don't lie to me." I can tolerate a lot from her, but not this. Not dishonesty.

She turns now. "I'm sorry, okay? It's just – that was not a good time. You really don't remember?"

I shake my head no. "Will you tell me? I want to know. I want to remember."

She sighs, and a look of resignation settles on her face now. "Yes, Peeta. I'll tell you. But not here. Can we please go home first?"

"Sure. Of course." We resume our walk to my house, and I'm both eager and anxious for this conversation. Finally, we're going to talk.

* * *


	17. Confessions

As we make our way back to my house, we don't say anything. The farther we walk, the heavier the silence feels between us. I try to steal a couple of quick glances at her face, trying to get a sense of what she's thinking, but she keeps her eyes down, her arms folded as if chilled, even though the weather is mild.

I grow more discouraged the closer we get. This isn't how I envisioned our first talk going. I feel a strong need to discuss this memory with her, to better understand that day and, more importantly, what transpired between us, but not like this. I don't want to drag her through this conversation.

We get to my house, and she follows me inside, quietly closing the door behind her. We make our way into the living room, but instead of sitting down, I just turn to face her as she walks in. She looks so worn down, my irritation disappears as I finally see the trepidation in her eyes.

"Katniss, we don't have to talk about this," I sigh. Yes, I'm disappointed, but clearly she is not up for this. And I won't ever back her into another corner.

She looks at me, gratitude, relief and sadness all mixed together. But then her countenance changes, and she stands a little taller as she says, "No, Peeta, I will talk with you about this. But, I'd like to just rest a bit, first. It's been an…exhausting day."

Her offer surprises and encourages me, and I nod several times before responding. "Sure, Katniss. Of course. Do you want to go home?"

She looks around, as if assessing her options, and gestures to the couch. "I could just lay down here for a little while?"

I smile reassuringly. "Of course not. That's fine."

She makes her way over to the sofa and gets comfortable, tucking her feet up and bending her knees. Her hands rest under her cheek, and she shifts until she's satisfied. I go to the closet and retrieve a blanket, which I lay over her. She smiles, thanks me, and closes her eyes.

I walk to the kitchen, thinking maybe I'll start baking or cooking dinner or something, but realize I don't want to make too much noise and keep her up. I'm also thinking about the image I saw, trying to recall all its details, as well as any feelings I associate with it. I'm worried that if too much time passes and we don't talk about it, I might lose the clarity I see now. I turn around and head upstairs to the spare bedroom, which I've set up with my painting supplies. I grab a blank canvas and sit down at the easel in the middle of the room, as the walls are almost entirely covered with piles of sketches and paintings in various stages of completion. I settle in to recreate the vision in my mind, and lose myself in the strokes of swirling snow.

I don't know how much time has passed when I am abruptly and forcefully yanked back into the present by a terrifying scream.

"PEETA! PEETA! Where are you?"

I knock something over as I leap off my stool, out the door and down the stairs without even thinking. I barrel into the living room, prepared to fight off the invading force that must be attacking, only to find Katniss twisting and turning on the couch, the blanket entangling her flailing limbs. Without hesitating, I go to her and wrap her in my arms, using soothing tones and calm words to try to wake her.

"Shhhh…I'm here, Katniss, I'm right here. It's alright. You're alright."

She's sobbing now, and her arms have stopped fighting me, but I sense that she's still not awake yet.

"Katniss, we're home, we're safe. It's not real, just a nightmare. Wake up, Katniss, wake up. I'm right here."

I'm rocking her back and forth, stroking the back of her hair, when I finally feel the tenseness that engulfs her begin to subside. She collapses a little into my arms, and her hands fall down, one on the sofa and the other onto my leg. Her breathing is still erratic and shallow, but slowing.

"Hey, that's better. It's okay. Just a bad dream."

She doesn't make any attempt to dislodge herself from me, and though I stop rocking her, I keep my arms where they are and continue to stroke her hair. I can't remember the last time I held her like this, but it feels natural just the same. Her hair is so soft, and the smell of it so close awakens a pleasant feeling in me. As I hold her, I am overcome with feelings of familiarity, longing, and calm. As if this is where my soul has been trying to get, even though I didn't know it. I feel my own racing heart slow, and part of me thinks I could sit like this for days and never want to move. I don't think I've truly realized how physically lonely I've felt until this moment.

We sit like this for a few minutes, not talking, and I can feel her deepening her breaths and quieting her sobs. Eventually, without pulling away, she says, "We were here, in District 12. Just you and me. Everyone else was gone. We were looking everywhere for them, but we were alone. And then," she stifles another cry, and I pull her tighter.

"Shhhh, it's alright. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

But I can feel her shake her head, just a bit, as she tries to continue. I suppose saying it out loud makes it less real for her – gives her a way to feel in control again over her own thoughts. "They came, the Peacekeepers, and Snow. And we were running, but we weren't fast enough. The hovercraft came down over us, and they picked me up in some kind of net, and I couldn't see you. Until…until…I saw you lying on the ground, with a spear in your chest."

I feel her shake as she manages to get out this last part, and squeeze her to me once again, before I gently put my hands on her shoulders and sit her back from me enough so I can look into her eyes. Her face is tear-stained and shaken, but not terrified. Even as I watch, I can see her steel grey eyes vanquish the fear and cloudiness the nightmare wrought.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss. It was only a dream. We're safe. Nothing like that is going to happen."

She nods, and wipes her nose on my blanket, which makes me smile just a bit. Seeing this, she gets a sheepish look and quickly apologizes.

"Don't worry about it," I say, shrugging. "I've been meaning to do laundry for a few days anyway."

She leans back, and I stand up, missing and relishing the feel of her all at the same time. She puts her hand over her eyes, laying her head back against the armrest. I need to get her mind off that dream.

"How about some hot chocolate?" I ask. She peeks out at me, and I extend my hand to help her off the couch. She smiles wanly, but accepts the gesture and pulls herself up. We head into the kitchen, and I put some water on to boil on the stove as I get out a mug and the powder mix.

"So, what were you doing while I was sleeping? I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

I shake my head, "Not at all. I was just upstairs, painting."

"Oh? What were you painting?"

"Well, I wanted to be sure not to forget the memory from earlier, so I decided to paint it."

She looks at me with curiosity. "Really? Can I see it?"

My stomach does a flip. Partly I am excited that Katniss wants to see my painting. Partly I am hesitant to take her up there, as the room is filled with all kinds of images I've created, some of which I'm not sure I ever want her to see, much less after having just awakened from a nightmare. I'm stalling, and she senses it.

"Please, Peeta? I would really like to see it."

Was there ever a time I was able to refuse her? Somehow I doubt it, not if she asked like that. "Sure, let's just make the hot chocolate and then we'll head up."

The water boils soon enough, and I hand her a steaming mug. She accepts it and the look on her face almost reminds me of a small child getting a cookie from my dad in the bakery. I laugh a little at the similarities, and gesture for her to follow me as I head toward the stairs. But before we go in, I feel like I have to give her some warning.

"Katniss, there may be some other paintings in here that you may not want to see. It's okay – I'll understand."

"Why wouldn't I want to see them, Peeta? I know how good a painter you are."

I wonder if she can see the flush in my cheeks as much as I can feel it. "Well, thanks, but…well, while I was working with Dr. Aurelius in the Capital, I used painting to help me with my therapy. I painted a lot of different things, and sometimes he would go through them with me to help me figure out what was real and not real. But other times, well, I painted the images in my head in the hopes of just getting them out of there."

We're practically to the room by now, so I turn around. I don't want to overstate anything or worry her, but I also don't want her to be upset if she sees something that bothers her.

"I'm just saying, not everything is primroses and dandelions, okay?"

She smiles at the intentional reference, and replies, "Peeta, I've always hated your paintings, no matter how good they were. Why should now be any different?" And with that, she sidesteps me and moves into the room before I can.

She doesn't get very far before she stops, almost in the middle of the room, and slowly turns to take in the various paintings she can see surrounding her. Some are familiar already, the ones I showed her on the train for our Victory Tour – another private moment that thankfully the Capital was not privy to, and therefore unable to alter. But many are new, and I watch her gaze linger on several of these. After waiting silently for a minute or two, I move toward the painting I had been working on this afternoon. Apparently, my hasty departure had overturned my canister of brushes and knocked my palette to the floor. Self-consciously, I begin straightening things, so I have something to do while she takes in my work.

After what seems like hours but in reality is only minutes, she finally speaks. "Peeta, you've been busy."

I look at her now, trying to gauge her reaction. She's slowly walking around the room, still holding her mug of hot chocolate. As she strolls, she will sometimes pause at a particular painting, even reach her small fingers out toward it occasionally. As I glance around, trying to see them as she is seeing them, I realize there are scenes from a lot of times and places, some real, some not, some I'm still not quite sure.

She stops at one in particular, and I walk over to where she stands. It's a painting of the two of us, her mostly, though you can see my arm and shoulder. She's looking down at her belly, where my hand is placed. We're standing on the beach from the Quarter Quell, and the look on her face is confusing – a mix of sorrow, pleasure and something else. This is one of the ones I'm not sure about, so I simply ask, "Real or not real?"

She looks at me, then back to the image. "Both. You touched me like that during the Quarter Quell, reminding the audience of my 'pregnancy'. But I was never pregnant, Peeta. It was a lie you made up."

I had been told about that lie, but I couldn't stop myself from asking anyway, "Why did I do that?"

She looks at me again, locking her eyes onto mine. "To protect me." She holds the look for a few seconds more, then breaks off, and moves to another painting next to that one. This one is of Haymitch carrying her out of the forest that first night. When she turns back to me, her brow is furrowed.

"What is this?"

I shift slightly, hoping this isn't going to upset her, but knowing I can't deflect her question, either. "Um, that was the first night after I got back, when you went to the woods."

I breathe a sigh of relief as I see recognition on her face, and no sign of movement or anger. She nods just a bit, and says, "I always thought it was him." She doesn't offer anything more, and I don't pry.

We keep moving through the piles of paintings, most of which are real. One, however, almost makes her laugh, until she notices that I'm not and tries to stop herself. It's a scene from the end of our first games, when the mutts are killing Cato. Only, in this depiction, she's half-mutt herself, with unreal eyes, long claws, and hair that looks more like a mane than a messy braid. She looks at me first with amusement, then with confusion.

"Peeta, is this how you remember it?"

Now it's my turn to be uncomfortable, but I need her to understand, I guess. "Sometimes, yes. I know it's not real, I mean, I know the Capital altered that memory and that you aren't a mutt. But sometimes, when I can't control it, yes, that's the image I see."

For the second time today, she surprises me by tentatively reaching her hand out to my arm and lightly squeezing it. She gives me a sympathetic look, and then takes her hand away, cupping both of them around her mug, seeking out the warmth it contains.

We look through a few more, and she comments a couple of times on how talented I am, even if she doesn't like most of what she sees. She can barely look at the painting of Darius being tortured that she finds just behind one of Joanna curled in a corner of her cell. She asks me to turn that one around, so that it faces the wall, and moves purposefully several feet away, skipping a lot of paintings in between, in an effort to put distance between herself and that entire pile of paintings.

After a few more real/not real questions from me about particular images, more for confirmation than because I didn't already know, she asks me where the painting from today is.

I take her to the easel in the middle of the room, and she quiets and stills as she takes it in. As I look over it again, I realize it may be one of my better paintings, after all.

She barely whispers, "Peeta, is this really how you remember it? How you remember me?"

I'm not sure why she's asking that, but I nod in reply. She just continues to stare, not saying anything, not moving, not looking at me. I've painted the scene my mind conjured earlier today. It's snowing, and the ground is covered in snow as well. There's an ethereal feel to the light of the day, and the overriding color, if you had to name one, to describe the painting would be silver. In the scene, is Katniss, bundled up in her winter coat, scarf, hat and gloves. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, in perfect waves. Her black boots poke out from the long blue skirt she wears, and you can tell she's running toward you, as if she might run right off the canvas. But it is her face that is most captivating. It simply glows with happiness. Her grey eyes seem to gleam, her rosy cheeks, flush from the cold, suggest youth and vitality, and her mouth curves in a genuine and unabashed smile that melts your heart. Well, mine anyway. In a word, she is simply radiant.

As I conduct this visual assessment of my work, I realize I'm slightly embarrassed. I suppose I hadn't really been aware of how openly adoring this rendering of Katniss was while I had been working on it. I'm starting to grow nervous that she's going to react to this depiction of herself in a way that will be far removed from the visage before us, when she speaks again.

"I had no idea. I wish it had really been that way." Her soft voice is singed with remorse, and she doesn't turn to look at me, even though she's now looking for somewhere else to gaze.

I struggle with conflicting desires – to change the subject and dispel the somberness that seems to have settled on us like a mist, and to probe gently into the meaning behind her words. I hesitate, then remind myself that she did promise to talk with me about this. And now may be my only opportunity, so I forge ahead.

"Katniss, I may not remember everything about that day, but this is the memory I have, and you said it was real, and it makes me happy. Can you tell me why it shouldn't, or why it doesn't do the same for you?"

She walks over to the stool by the only table in the room and sits, putting her hot chocolate on the desk. She wraps herself in her arms and sighs. When she speaks, it's with effort. "Earlier that day, Snow had shown up in my house. He basically threatened to kill Prim, Mom, you, your family, Ga-…the Hawthornes, anyone I cared about, if I didn't convince all of Panem, and him, of how much I…how much I loved you."

As she's talking, fog is lifting from my mind, thoughts reassembling themselves as if woken from slumber. "He didn't do that to me, though. Only you. But you didn't tell me." I'm not even fully aware I've said this out loud.

She looks at me now, trying to read my expression, I think. "Not right away, no. I was scared, and I was angry. I thought I could protect you and everyone else." She lowers her eyes and continues just above a whisper, "I didn't want you to be more upset with me."

I look at her, eyebrows raised, clearly questioning this last statement.

She looks down again, and I have to take a couple of steps toward her to hear everything.

"It was complicated, Peeta. We hadn't spent very much time together before the tour began. Our last conversation on the train coming home from the games didn't go so well. I had hurt your feelings. I was confused, about a lot of things, and just needed some time to myself to figure things out. So, other than required appearances for the cameras and interviews and things, we really didn't see each other for most of that time. This," and she nods toward my painting, "was the first time we'd been together for a while, and it had to be convincing."

She reaches for her mug, and takes another sip. I can certainly understand, now, why this memory isn't a happy one for her. I walk over to her and squat down in front of her. I take her hand in mine.

"I'm sorry, Katniss."

She looks baffled. "For what?"

"For everything. For Snow, for not being there for you when you needed me, for not being able to remember these things, and asking you to relive them so I can try to. I'm so sorry."

She frowns, and her tone takes on a decidedly fierce quality. "Peeta, you have nothing to apologize for. None of that, or this, or anything was even remotely your fault." She pauses, and continues more softly, "If anything, being with you made it better. You helped me get through it."

My heart skips, but I ignore it and say, "I hope so. But it still doesn't change the fact that I wish you hadn't had to get through it in the first place. I wish I'd been able to protect you from all that."

She squeezes my hand, gives me a wistful smile, and then turns to look at the sketches on the table. These aren't paintings, but a collection of images I've drawn, all things that have happened since my time in the Capital, so there's no question as to their veracity. Most of them are of people: Delly talking with me in District 13, the Star Squad sitting around the campfire, Finnick and Annie in the cafeteria, Katniss with her bow drawn, about to shoot Snow, Thom talking with the crew in town, Sae sitting at breakfast.

Katniss leafs through the sketches, looks around the room once more at the myriad of paintings piled up in every available space, and looks at me quizzically.

"Peeta, look at all this. When do you have time to do all these?"

I straighten up as I shrug, releasing her hand to run mine through my hair as I sheepishly look around myself. I have been prolific in my therapy, it would seem. "Well, you'd be amazed at how much you can accomplish in the middle of the night when you aren't sleeping." And it's true. Most nights, when I either can't fall asleep at all, or wake up tense and sweaty from my own nightmare, I come in here and take my mind off of it by painting or drawing. It relaxes me, until I can usually fall asleep for a couple of hours before starting my day.

Her head tilts at my response, but she doesn't say anything. There's a moment of awkward silence between us. I expect her to comment about her own sleepless nights, but she remains silent. So, I suggest the only logical thing to do at this point.

"How about some dinner?"

"That sounds good."

We head downstairs to the kitchen, and I make some simple sandwiches and fresh fruit. Katniss asks about the garden and when we might start enjoying some of its spoils. But it will be a few more weeks at least, I think, before anything will be ready for picking.

The beautiful day is waning into a beautiful sunset, and I suggest we take our food outside and sit on the back porch to eat so we can enjoy it. Our conversation comes and goes in spurts, but the silence in between doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. As we watch the sunset and the air begins to chill just a bit, I'm reminded of our time on the roof. Another memory that, thankfully, survives unscathed, though I ask her about it just the same, to be sure. The peaceful look she has on her face as she reminisces with me about that day moves me.

We sit for a long time, letting day turn to dusk and eventually night. At one point, we hear Haymitch yelling at one of his geese to get their feathered butt back where it belongs, and we both laugh. But neither of us makes a move to get up and help him, and eventually his door slams and the night is quiet once more. When I notice Katniss pulling her legs up, crossing her arms and shivering slightly, I retrieve the blanket from the couch and offer it to her. We watch the stars come out, and amuse ourselves by making up silly names for them, each trying to outdo the other with a more outrageous suggestion.

Finally, it's late, and I catch Katniss yawning deeply, even though she seems to be trying to hide it. As much as I don't want the day to end, don't want to see her walk out the front door, I know that we can't stay out here forever, either. I stand up, gathering our dishes, and give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"It's late. I suppose we should think about turning in."

I walk into the kitchen, quickly washing the dishes and setting them out to dry. Katniss comes in, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and leans against the counter. She looks exhausted, not necessarily in a bad way, but clearly tired and ready for sleep.

"You have nightmares, too, then." It's not a question, and it's as much of a confession of weakness as Katniss Everdeen will probably ever make.

"Yeah, I do."

She doesn't say anything in response. I'm not sure what to do. I definitely want to ask, but I have no idea if she wants me to ask. I'm not even clear about why I know, but I know that we used to spend the night together, and it helped. But that was so long ago, and I have no idea if she remembers, wants to do that, nothing. Yes, she's been opening up to me again. And no, I don't want her to leave, but I don't want to presume anything, either. She seems to be waiting for me to say something, though, so I start to ask just as she speaks at the same time.

"So, do you want…"

"Would it be alright…"

We smile at each other, embarrassed by the awkwardness of the situation.

"Go ahead, you first," I offer.

She bites her lip again, and shakes her head no, indicating she wants me to start. I'm immediately frustrated by how nervous I feel, and laugh to try to calm myself.

"Katniss, this is silly. Do you want to spend the night here? Either way is fine with me. You just didn't seem like you wanted to go home, but you're obviously tired."

She looks up at me with what is plainly relief, and nods her head. I smile back at her, and finish up the dishes. I'm hoping that she doesn't notice how my hands are shaking. I have no illusions that this is simply a deterrence measure – a way to feel safer and keep unwanted nightmares at bay. But I can't help the feeling of elation I get when I realize that Katniss is going to spend the night with me.

We head upstairs, and I offer to get Katniss some more comfortable clothes to sleep in. I go to my dresser and pull out a t-shirt and sweat pants, but when I turn to hand them to her, I notice that she's standing in the doorway to my bedroom. She accepts the clothes, then turns and goes to the bathroom in the hall, instead of coming in to my room and changing in that bathroom. As I change into a pair of sweats and more comfortable shirt as well, I realize that though she agreed to stay here, that doesn't necessarily mean she agreed to stay in the same room, the same bed. I kick myself for jumping to conclusions, and walk down the hall to the guest room. I check to make sure the guest bed has sheets, and when I turn to leave, she's standing in the doorway again, wearing my clothes.

They are clearly too big for her, and I find that adorable. I feel a rush that threatens to betray me, and move to the windows to draw the shades in an effort to distract myself.

"Hey. Do you, uh, need anything else?"

She shakes her head no, and steps into the room uncertainly. Her expression is neutral, overly so, I think to myself. But then again, that could just be me seeing things I want to see. I don't want to be presumptuous though, and she doesn't seem to be rejecting the arrangement, either. So, I walk over to her and give her a hug. "I'm right down the hall, if you need anything, okay?" I really, really hope she needs something, but I let her go and make my way out of the room.

"Goodnight, Katniss."

"Goodnight, Peeta."

I take off my shirt, climb into bed, turn off the light, and clasp my hands behind my head as I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling. I wish I had a better sense of what she was thinking and feeling. I wish I didn't feel so awkward and unsure. I don't want to risk pushing her away again by revealing the growing feelings I have, my desire to spend more time with her, to be with her, more than we are now. I'm hesitant, because having this friendship is better than nothing, and I can't bear the idea of scaring her off by suggesting we could have more, if she's not thinking the same thing already.

I feel as restless as my thoughts, and wonder if I'll be able to sleep at all tonight with Katniss so close yet so far away. I decide to wait a little longer before getting up to paint, though, hoping that I might just fall asleep despite my churning thoughts. My mind is wandering through all the possibilities of sharing my feelings with Katniss, both good and bad, as I toss and turn trying to find a comfortable position that will snag the sleep that eludes me, when suddenly she's there. Standing next to my bed, so silent I never even heard her come in the room. I sit up suddenly, alarmed that something is wrong.

"Katniss! What is it? Are you alright?"

"I can't sleep."

I breathe a sigh of relief, mixed with anticipation. "Me neither," I say.

She doesn't move, and I smile to myself. I scoot away from her in the bed, and pull back the covers, inviting her to climb in. She does, tucking herself into the covers and turning on her side to face me. I mirror her position, and soon we're lying face to face, only our knees touching. She's looking at me, and a small smile appears that both relaxes and excites me at the same time. Then, she takes her left hand, seeks out my right, and clasps our fingers together.

"Goodnight, Peeta."

"Goodnight, Katniss."

And we sleep.

* * *


	18. Connection

I can hear the birds singing and sense more than feel the sunlight before I even open my eyes. I feel more rested than I've felt in weeks, and as I stretch to help rouse my body, I smile faintly, thankful for this brief reprieve from my normal restless routine. It's only when my leg bumps something hard and unexpected that my eyes fly open and I am momentarily disoriented. I sit up quickly, looking questioningly at the overlarge shirt that hangs on my shoulders, before my memory catches up to my movement and I look to my right. Peeta is still sleeping. Shirtless. In his bed. Where I am. My lungs gasp quickly before I can stop them.

I freeze. I can feel the panic starting to careen forward in my mind, but I force myself to grip the sheets and take a slow, deep breath. I close my eyes, still sitting up, and recreate in my foggy morning awareness how I ended up here. We had spent last night eating, talking, just being around one another. It had felt so…comfortable. After the nightmare I'd had in the afternoon on the sofa, I had been reticent to go back to my empty house, alone, all too aware of what awaited me in the depths of night. And I had been hopeful. Hopeful that I might be able to reclaim some of the sleep-full nights I had indulged in when Peeta and I had stayed together on the Victory Tour and before the Quarter Quell. I didn't know if he remembered or not, or if he wanted me to stay, especially when he surprised me by preparing the guest room for me. All I knew was that I wanted to be near him. I wanted to not be alone. I wanted to feel safe again, if only for a night. And I recalled how I had come to him, not feeling restful at all in the room by myself, inviting myself into his bed. Clearly, I had slept soundly.

As I recall these thoughts, I feel myself calming down, at least a little. I relax a little more, satisfied in the knowledge that last night I had the best night's sleep I've had in I don't know how long. Possibly since before the Quarter Quell. And there is no question as to why. Even I am not so obtuse as to understand that sleeping next to Peeta kept the nightmares at bay, even if only for one night.

I turn to look at him again, and find I'm not the only one awake now.

"Mmmmm. Good morning."

Well, I guess he's not upset that I'm still here after all. "Good morning," I say. I am so suddenly and inexplicably nervous right now I think I might fly out of this bed. He, on the other hand, seems to be lazily enjoying our awkward predicament.

"Wow. It's late. How did you sleep?"

 _Blissfully, amazingly, unbelievably well_. "Good," is all I offer. "You?"

He smiles now, as if he read my mind but is willing to keep my secret anyway. "Me too."

And now I really do not trust myself. I am suddenly, forcefully, overcome by emotions that I am not at all prepared to deal with. They aren't necessarily unpleasant – simply overwhelming. All I know for certain in this instant is that I need some space, wide open space to figure out what I'm feeling before I do something I, or we, might regret later. I scoot out from under the covers, worried for half-a-second that I don't have any pants on before I see the sweats I'm wearing, and hop out of the bed. I feel them start to slide down my hips, seeing as how they are too big for me, and quickly pull them back up as I head toward the door.

"Katniss? Where are you going?" He's starting to lean up on one elbow, his brow furrowing.

"I need to hunt. It's much later than I usually go. I don't want to miss all of the game." I turn to look at him, pausing in the doorway, my hand on the frame. "I'll see you this afternoon, or maybe for dinner, okay?"

And I don't wait for his response before I quickly gather my clothes and boots in the bathroom down the hall, stop to pick up my bow and arrow downstairs, and make a beeline for the front door. It slams a little too loudly behind me, and I'm distracted trying to keep these pants up while carrying everything with my mind going a hundred miles a minute with thoughts that make my heart flutter, when I'm stopped dead in my tracks by the absolute last sound I want to hear this morning.

"Well, well, look who's here. Mornin', sweetheart."

Haymitch is standing in the road directly in front of me. At first I'm startled just to see him at this hour of the day, not entirely sure what hour it is, but knowing enough by the position of the sun in the sky to know that it is at least several hours before he usually sets foot outside. But when I look up and see the grotesquely smug smile on his face, the look he's giving me as he takes in my attire and the things I'm carrying, I am rendered completely speechless by my instant mortification.

"Late night, huh?" He's trying so hard to stifle his laugh he's barely understandable.

"Out of my way, Haymitch."

"Woah, woah, woah, what's the hurry?" He reaches out and grabs both of my arms, not letting me push my way past him. I'm at a distinct disadvantage holding all this stuff, and he knows it. He also knows he would never get away with this otherwise. "Or did you just tumble out of the wrong side of the kid's bed this morning?"

I'm about to drop everything I'm holding and take him for a tumble.

"Haymitch, leave her alone. It's not what you think." I jerk my head around to see Peeta standing on the porch, shirt on now, arms crossed, with just a hint of a smirk on his face. In the distance I hear the train whistle blow. Haymitch laughs, releases his hands on my arms, and says, "That's my cue. Guess we'll have to continue this delightful conversation later, sweetheart. Nice bumping into you." And with that, he strolls toward the train station. I give a quick glance back at Peeta who is just standing there watching me, and then waste no time stomping off to my house, fumbling to get the door open and slamming it closed behind me.

Once I am safely inside, I let out a huge breath, toss everything on the couch, and pace back and forth, trying to calm my shaking nerves. I look at the clock, see that it's only about 8:30, and wonder how it's possible to feel this exasperated at such a relatively early hour.

I head upstairs and quickly change out of Peeta's clothes and into my own hunting garb, put my boots on and grab my gear back downstairs, then opt to head out the back door just to be safe. I take my usual route to the forest, my mind wandering all over the place while I'm walking. As the initial shock of this morning wears off and I'm able to distance myself from Haymtich's unexpected intrusion, I'm only half-surprised to realize I'm in a good mood, actually. The logical side of my brain tries to attribute my positive demeanor to just having gotten a good night's rest, finally.

But the smile I can't seem to get off my face confirms that it's not just due to feeling more rested and the after effects of a nightmare-free night. As I mull over everything that happened yesterday, having spent almost the entire day with Peeta, I realize that being with him felt…nice. More than nice. It felt natural. It felt familiar. Last evening was so relaxing, my smile broadens as I recall our conversations. My mind drifts to how he looked, sitting outside in the moonlight, his smile easy and genuine, his blue eyes shining even in the dim light. It had started to feel like…before, reminding me of the times we worked on my family's plant book while my ankle healed. He seemed more like he had been back then than ever. More than once I had wanted to reach over and touch his arm or cheek or neck, but I had held back.

This morning was awkward and embarrassing and I was overwhelmed…by the _goodness_ of it all – the way it just felt right. I'm sure Haymitch will never let me hear the end of it, even if nothing did happen between us. But as I slow my steps and prepare to start hunting in earnest, quieting my footfalls and attuning my senses to the sounds and sights around me, I have to force down the nervous but pleasant feeling I get in my stomach as I think about the possibility of waking up in the same place again tomorrow.

Somehow, I manage to focus just enough on the task at hand to not make the day an entire waste in terms of bringing home game. After a few hours, I've covered a lot of ground, and have a fairly full bag, including a wild turkey, which I know Peeta is particularly fond of. I have a fairly long walk back home, as I made my way past the meadow well over an hour ago. But the spring in my step returns as I make my way back, and once I get there, I take a few minutes to just bask in the sunlight, smell some flowers and enjoy the scenery that surrounds me. I love this place. It's not only beautiful, but nourishing for my soul in ways I don't fully understand. Just being here makes me even happier, and I'm in such a good mood that I laugh out loud at myself for being so easily affected.

I don't really realize I'm humming until I hear them echoing and enhancing my tune. Mockingjays are gathering in the branches above me. I've seen them a few times in these woods, but today, I am delighted by their company. I begin to sing melodies, no words, just to see what they'll do with it. The way they mimic and embellish the simple tunes is inspiring. Soon, I find myself trying to recall songs from my childhood, songs that my father would sing to us – nonsense, children's songs that were simple to sing, but that I haven't thought of in so many years. Memories of Prim and I when we were little peek in from the edges of my thoughts, but I focus on the warm feelings the bits of songs conjure, and guiltily push aside the sadness that accompanies any thought of Prim.

It feels so good to sing again, here in my meadow, with the sun shining and the flowers dancing in the breeze. As I struggle to remember more lyrics, I wish this place could stay like this all year, that I would always have this small piece of paradise to come to when my spirits either needed lifting or were already soaring. Just as the songs from my childhood have faded from my memory, I fear this one perfect place in my life will fade with the upcoming seasons.

The idea blossoms in my head before I'm even fully aware of it, but I can see the image clearly in my mind's eye as I look over under a large oak tree. We're lying on a blanket, I'm stringing flowers together to make a crown, and Peeta is painting. The day looks just like today, and we're both smiling and talking as if we have not a care in the world. I blink my eyes, disoriented by the clarity of the vision, and it's gone when I open them again. But the idea remains, and I know that I want to bring him here, want to have him paint this place for me, so it will always be with me. I bid farewell to my feathered friends, pick up my game bag and bow, and head back home, grinning as I make plans.

When I get to Victor's Village, I decide to head straight to Peeta's house, both to drop off some game for our dinners, and to extend my invitation to picnic with me in the meadow. I'm relieved that there's no sign of Haymitch, not wanting to spar with him and ruin my good mood so soon. I bound up the steps to Peeta's house and don't even hesitate as I open the front door and let myself in.

Something is very wrong.

I freeze, taking in the scene around me with growing fear. The lamp lies next to the table, cushions are askew on the couch, papers lay scattered and strewn. From where I stand near the door, I can see broken dishes on the floor of the kitchen, and a kitchen chair knocked over in the doorway. I don't hear a sound. My mind immediately begins recreating terrible scenarios from my nightmares, and the panic begins rising rapidly. I can't keep the alarm out of my voice as I call out for him.

"Peeta? Peeta, where are you?"

Instinctively, I arm myself. I don't hear any response, but my ingrained sense of self-preservation kicks in and I start to slowly move through the house, bow and arrow ready to strike. I am equally torn between fleeing as fast as I can and needing to know if Peeta is lying somewhere in this wreckage, injured, or worse.

I move forward slowly, confirming my initial impression that the living room is unoccupied. I cautiously move toward the back of the house, toward the kitchen, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I have to step carefully to avoid both the shattered dishes and the overturned chair in my path, but as I clear the doorway, I finally see him. Peeta is sitting on the floor, hunched up with his knees bent, his hands on his head, and very, very softly I can hear him repeating to himself over and over, "Not real, not real, not real."

My heart breaks, and I immediately lower my bow and remove it and the quiver of arrows, gently putting them down on the floor. I walk toward him tentatively, not sure if he is still in the midst of his episode or not. I haven't seen him like this since the Capital, and I find myself instantly wary. However, I also know I am not going to leave him like this unless I absolutely have to.

"Peeta?" I speak softly, stopping a few feet away from him so as not to startle him. He doesn't respond, so I try once again. "Peeta? It's me, Katniss. Peeta, look at me."

He stops muttering to himself, but does not move.

I squat down, not going any nearer, but lowering myself to his level. I keep my voice as steady and soft as I can, but firm and clear as well. "Peeta, I'm here now. Whatever you saw, it's not real. This is real. I'm real. We're here, in your kitchen. Please, look at me."

He still doesn't look up at me, but I hear him say, "We're alone here. Everyone is missing. Real or not real?"

"Not real, Peeta. We're alone in your house, but everyone is still here – Haymitch, Thom, Sae, your work crew – everyone is still here." I have to stifle a sob to get the words out, but somehow I manage.

"You left me. You left me alone here so they could come for me. Real or not real?" There's a hint of anger in his words now, but I take a breath before I reply calmly once more.

"Not real, Peeta. I only left to go hunting. I'm back now."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and I'm not sure what else to do. Then he looks up at me, and I'm relieved to see his eyes are his, albeit sad and unsure as they glance at me, then down at the floor again. He practically whispers now, "You stayed here, with me, last night."

I smile shyly, glad to know that he hasn't lost that memory in the chaos around us. "Real, Peeta. Very real."

He can't move as swiftly as I can, but I'm still caught off guard as he propels himself off the wall and toward me, enveloping me in a tight squeeze that feels more as if he's reassuring himself that I'm really here in front of him and not some figment of his imagination than anything else. I put my hand out and grab the corner of the table to steady us so we don't fall over. After a bit, I ask, "Peeta, what happened?"

He lets me go and sits down on the floor next to me, more relaxed now. He won't look at me again, and shrugs before he answers, "I remember starting to make some cheese buns for you, and then it's all pretty fuzzy until just now."

I can tell he's holding back, but I don't want to antagonize him right now so I don't push. He starts to look around, and shakes his head at the mess he created.

"Guess I may be the one who needs Annaliese's help more than Haymitch, huh?"

I snort at this before I even realize it, and he looks at me, a wicked, knowing grin on his face. "Katniss, you aren't still jealous of her?"

I get up, too quickly, and try to cover myself. "Of course not! But I'm just as capable of helping you clean up as she is, that's all. Come on – let's get rid of this mess." His half-hearted smirk is not lost on me. I reach out my hand to help him up, though, and he steadies himself against the counter once he's standing. I look at him skeptically, wondering if he's really up to cleaning yet, but he just heads over to get the broom and dustpan out of the pantry and starts sweeping up the floor.

After about half an hour of working together, we finish cleaning and the house looks back to normal. We don't talk much as we work – I think Peeta is embarrassed, and I've definitely lost some of my unabashed happiness from my time in the meadow. I also feel guarded in talking with him, still not fully understanding what brought on this episode in the first place.

As we put away the cleaning supplies, Peeta asks if I'm hungry and want some lunch.

"Actually, I need to take some of this game to Sae first, I think, and I should probably head home and shower."

He is clearly disappointed, and I find myself wondering what he's thinking.

"Yeah, okay. I was supposed to be helping in town today, so I guess I'll just head there anyway."

"Peeta, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I don't want to just be left here again!" he snaps. Then he closes his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose with one hand while he lays the other one on the counter.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Maybe you're right, maybe it would be better if I just laid down for a while."

I walk over to him, having a better inkling of what may have happened this morning now. I lay my hand on his, and he looks at them. "Peeta, please tell me what happened this morning. This is about the way I left earlier, isn't it?"

He sighs, saying, "I didn't want to say anything, but I also don't want any secrets between us. I don't blame you, at all, really. I'm not sure why you left the way you did, and if spending the night here upset you, I'm sorry. But I was upset that we didn't really talk about it, and that you left in such a hurry."

He looks at me quickly before he looks down again and continues. "I was frustrated, and came in here to try to bake something. But it wasn't helping, and then I remembered the dream you told me about yesterday afternoon, and I guess I just lost it. I was convinced that you had left to go turn me in, that you had lured me here so Snow could capture me again."

I try to fight the feeling of being about two inches tall right now, but he sees my face and sighs. "Katniss, it's not your fault. You can't blame yourself. I shouldn't have been so upset in the first place. I mean, you didn't have to stay this morning, especially… if you were upset about last night." His voice trails off as he says that last part, and I realize that he thinks I'm unhappy about having stayed here with him.

"Peeta, I wasn't upset."

He just looks at me with that look he has that says so plainly he doesn't believe me. I hate that look.

"It's true!" I protest. Now I'm the one that can't look him in the eye. "I was overwhelmed, that's all. I wasn't sure what I was feeling and just needed some time to think." He waits for me to continue, but at least that dubious look is gone from his face now.

I look back up at him now, wanting to reassure him, needing him to know that I'm not making this up. "In fact, I realized that I felt really good this morning. Happy, even. I wasn't upset at all. I slept so well, that, well, I was hoping…umm, but if you, I mean…"

He's grinning at me now, and I'm totally stumbling as doubt creeps into my own head that he may not want to repeat last night given how his morning went. But he takes a step toward me, turning us so that we're facing one another head on.

"Katniss, I meant it when I said I slept great last night, too. Only I didn't need any space this morning to figure out how I felt about it." He's teasing, yes, but there's more depth to it than that. There's something in his tone that make my insides clench in a good way.

I've been looking at his chest, but slowly I raise my eyes to look into his, growing more aware each second of my heart rate increasing and a tingling sensation that's starting to radiate from my middle.

"So, then, you might want to try that again, sometime?" When did I, Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, become so tentative?

He banishes the space between us by gently cupping his hands on either side of my face, looking so deeply into my eyes that I'm convinced he's seeing straight into my heart. "Definitely," he says, but I'm not entirely sure I hear it as much as I just register that he's said it. Because at this point, I'm not hearing anything. I'm barely aware of the universe. All I can feel is the heat of his hands on my cheeks. All I can see are his lips, just above my eyes. All I can smell is him – hints of flour, cinnamon, and spices I can't even identify mixed perfectly with that masculine scent that's just his – sweat, musk, soap and something that I always associate with him but have no clue what it is.

My eyes flit automatically back and forth between his steady, deep blue gaze and his lips, and I can't stop, don't want to stop, imagining what they would feel like on my own. Somehow, he manages to bring our bodies even closer together, and I feel his thigh pressing against my hip. My hands rest lightly on each of his arms, and I'm fairly sure I'm not even breathing, when he leans down, slowly, brushing his lips so softly over mine that I can't even be certain they touched. But my body must be sure, because I involuntarily let out just a shadow of a moan, and am only vaguely aware of licking my lips, before he leaves no room for doubt as his lips firmly yet gently connect us. I manage to inhale sharply through my nose as I feel his fingertips press just enough into the back of my head to make it seem as if I am no longer standing on my own two feet, but supported solely by his strong hands and soft mouth. My own hands grip his arms more securely, so strong is the sense that I am falling that I have to steady myself.

He responds instantly, tilting his head just so, and opening his lips so that I feel my upper lip slide in between them, the warmth and wetness making my knees even weaker. Our mouths part only long enough for me to gasp as much air as I can before he is back, pulling lightly on my bottom lip with his teeth, stroking my lips with his tongue, pulling oh so slightly on my hair. I am overcome with desire.

My tongue darts out of my mouth, seeking his, needing to be in his mouth, to explore that part of him. I step into him, raising and clasping my hands behind his neck, pulling him to me, opening my mouth wider as our tongues twirl and stroke and retreat, only to push forward once again. Even his tongue feels strong compared to my softer one. I feel as if I could simply inhale him. I am vaguely aware of one of his hands sliding down my shoulder, stopping at the small of my back, and the tingling that started moments ago in my belly erupts into full blown pulses of heat and pleasure. He pulls me to him, wrapping me in his arms, moaning his own pleasure and desire into my mouth.

Seconds, minutes, an hour, I have no way of knowing how long we've been kissing when we finally, reluctantly, let ourselves part long enough to breathe through our mouths again. Both short of breath, we pant almost in unison as I lay my forehead on his shoulder and feel his arms tighten around me as his hand gently strokes my arm.

Neither of us speak for a couple of minutes, and part of my never wants this moment in time to end. I want to stand here, safe, secure, content, in his arms, molded to his body, for eternity. The tingling waves recede to a dull ache, and my breathing finally slows to a close-to-normal rate when he finally pulls away only as much as he needs to be able to see my face. He lifts my chin with his thumb, bringing my eyes to meet his.

"I have wanted to do that for so long. You have no idea."

I smile up at him, my arms stretched around his back, and squeeze him closer to me in response. Being here, in his embrace, with this unfamiliar yet recognizable fire smoldering in the center of me, I can't imagine why I ever doubted whether this should happen, could happen. I tilt my head up and rock up on my toes so I can kiss him lightly on his neck. Before I realize what's happening, he's unwrapped his arms, moved his hands down to my thighs, and lifts me quickly and easily up on to the counter, stepping in between my legs.

I giggle, in spite of myself, and rest my forearms on his shoulders. Some of his hair falls into his eyes, and I brush it back from his face so I can see them clearly. He grabs my wrist with his hand, then brings my palm to his mouth, kissing it. It sends shivers down my arm and back, and he looks at me with intense eyes. I am trapped in them once again, and this time it's me leaning toward him, initiating our contact. I don't care about anything right now, except feeling his mouth on mine, running my hands over his arms and back, stoking this fire that is slowly burning inside me.

"Peeta, kiss me."

He doesn't need to be told twice. As our mouths collide yet again, he pulls me forward on the counter, bringing me closer to the edge, closer to him. His hands on my ass excite me even more, and I squirm where I sit, trying to satisfy an urge that can't be satisfied. His hands are roaming now, all over my back, arms, neck, in my hair. My knees squeeze together, pushing on his sides, imploring him to be even closer to me.

When we break apart this time, I wonder if my eyes contain the same carnal hunger I see in his, and I shudder a bit at the idea. As much as I am enjoying this, I am growing concerned that if we continue, I might make choices I could regret later. I can tell he senses my apprehension, because he takes a step back, not far, but enough to prevent us from simply diving back into each other once more.

"We should probably…," he starts.

"Yeah, we should," I finish.

I'm not sure what comes over me, but before I can stop myself, I add, "You're an amazing kisser."

I think I actually see ten shades of blush rise in his cheeks. "Thanks. But if that's true, it's only because I'm so inspired."

I look away, feeling my own blush dominate my face now. "I should, uh, really get this game to Sae."

"Yeah, okay. I don't think I can work, not now. I think I'll try making those cheese buns after all."

"My favorite."

"I know."

I hop down from the counter, taking his hand and squeezing it before I turn to get my game bag and gear.

I look back over my shoulder at him as I head for the door, and he's watching me, leaning up against the counter where I just sat, arms folded, a grin on his face. "So, I'll see you in a little while, then? Dinner?"

"I'll be here," he says.

I can't get the smile off my face as I let myself out the front door and practically skip down the steps.

* * *


	19. Ambushed

Life is good. There is no doubt in my mind this is true as I wipe up the counter and finish the dishes from our early morning breakfast and my baking. If I was a hummer, I'm sure I'd be humming as I worked. However, Katniss is the hummer, I've discovered. Just one of the many things I've learned about her since she started staying with me four nights ago. She hums when she's happy, and the last couple of days I've started to grow accustomed to the sound.

Things between Katniss and I are, in a word, fantastic. I shake my head in disbelief these days as I recall how I used to dream about spending time with Katniss like this when I was younger, completely convinced that it would never happen. It really does feel like a dream come true right now. That first kiss we shared has been followed by dozens just like it or better, even. And though she called me an amazing kisser, there's no question I got the better end of this deal. The more we kiss, the more I discover just how many different facets there are to her kisses – chaste and innocent, teasing, sensual and lingering, hungry and fast, and some that are just downright indescribable. We don't kiss all the time – at least, not as much as we would if it were only up to me – but, between the kissing, the hand-holding, the lingering looks and sleeping side-by-side each night, life is definitely good.

I'm committed to letting Katniss set the pace for a bit, fully recognizing that I've been anticipating and wanting this relationship for years, and she's just started allowing herself to explore her developing feelings. So, for a while at least, I'm happy to just enjoy where we are and let things progress slowly. Of course I'm also really looking forward to that progress, but I've waited this long for Katniss, and in some ways we're so different than we were. Part of me doesn't want to rush this period of really learning who we are together and to each other after everything that's happened and all this time has passed. Of course, part of me also wishes we were well beyond this exploratory stage, too.

She's left to hunt already, and I'll be heading to town shortly to meet the guys and get started on my bakery. My bakery. It still sounds so strange to me, but I find myself growing more and more enthusiastic. Not only am I constantly making plans about how I want it to look or what kinds of baked goods I want to offer, but I'm equally excited about the prospect of the café that we're going to add on for Sae to run. She was a little hesitant at first, but after I promised her that we would make sure we found people to help her run the place day to day, she warmed up to the idea. I'm confident that our two shops will mark just one more turning point in the rebirth of District 12. I feel good about being able to finally contribute that way.

I grab the donuts and two loaves of rye bread I made this morning for Haymitch and head toward the front door. Just as I reach for the knob, the phone rings behind me. I debate just leaving anyway, but it's rare to get a call at this hour, so I jog back and grab the phone.

"Hello?"

"Peeta, it's Gale."

My eyes catch the ceiling at the same time my stomach drops to the floor. "Hey, Gale." I'd been wondering when I would hear from him, dreading this conversation for some time.

"So? How is she?" Someone really needs to teach this guy how to make small talk.

"She's better. Definitely better." What do I tell him? How much do I tell him? I mean, I know he basically asked me to come here, but I also know he still has feelings for her. I feel guilty for not having contacted him, but I also feel like he doesn't really have a right to use me to check on her. I do not want to be in the middle of these two. At the same time, I reluctantly admit that I don't necessarily want him in direct contact with her either. And the fact that she hasn't once mentioned him since I've been back, that we haven't talked about him, or the explosion, or anything, tells me she's not really dealt with him in her own head, either.

"You could have told me." There's definitely an undertone there that I don't like.

"Look, she's better, but she's still healing, Gale. It's day to day – she's eating, and hunting, but she still has bad days, too." I shake the memory of her last bad day, when she refused to get out of her bed or even eat, out of my head. I still don't know what brought it on, and am not naïve enough to think that just because things are great right now we aren't going to have to deal with more days like that in the future.

"Well, what does she say about me? Does she still blame me?"

This is definitely not a conversation I want to have. "I don't know, Gale, we haven't really talked about it."

A pause. "What does that mean? You told her I came to see you, right? She knows I visited her, too, doesn't she? I've stayed away so far, but I don't plan on never having contact with her again, Mellark."

So, we're back to last names. I take a deep breath, trying to push down the rising anger and possessiveness I feel surging in myself. "Gale, what exactly did you expect me to do? We haven't talked about it – about you, Prim, any of it. She's not ready, and I'm not going to push her."

I can hear the restrained anger, and the hurt, in his voice. "You mean you never told her that I was the one who told you to go back to her?! I don't think that's asking too much. Isn't it enough that I bowed out? She's still my best friend – the least you could do is let her know I cared enough to let her go."

Part of me wants to tell him he needs to do that himself – that I can't, won't be his intermediary. That would be the mature thing. Unfortunately, that's not the part that answers him. "Look, I would have come back here, to her, with or without your visit. You don't have the right to expect anything like that, Gale. I'm sorry, but Katniss isn't ready to talk about you, and I'm definitely not ready to be pleading your case to her. I don't know what you think is going to happen between you two, but right now, she needs to focus on herself, on getting better, not on resolving whatever issues still remain between the two of you."

Damn. That was not the smartest way to handle this, but I can't take it back now.

"I won't just disappear out of her life entirely. She's too important to me."

"And I won't risk negating whatever progress she's made so far. She's too important to me, too."

"Fine. Guess I was stupid to think you might have had my back on this."

I sigh. I can't help but think that's a direct reference to times Gale was there for me, even though he probably didn't want to be. Training for the Quarter Quell, my rescue from the Capital, the nightlock pill, even his visit to tell me how she was doing. Like it or not, he's put himself out there for me more than once. I feel guilty, a little, and try to offer something.

"Look, she needs more time, okay? You're just going to have to be patient."

He snorts. "Yea, more time with you right there, me here, and her thinking that I murdered her sister and then abandoned her as well. I'm sure more time will make everything better between us." His sarcasm is a thin disguise for the hurt in his statement. I feel badly for him, but not badly enough to jeopardize my own status with Katniss by pushing her to figure out her feelings for him too soon.

"You asked me to come back here because you thought I could help her. I'm still doing that."

"Maybe. But I didn't ask you to help her by keeping me completely out of it. That's fine, though. Now I know where we stand." And he hangs up.

I replace the receiver, and opt for clenching my fist at my side a few times rather than putting it through the wall in front of me. I knew this conversation was going to happen at some point, and I feel disappointed in myself for the way I handled it. But I don't think I'm wrong about not having broached the subject with her yet – she's made no indication that Gale is someone she wants to talk about, much less have any contact with. Once again, though, I find myself doubting my instincts about her. What if she is thinking about him? What if she does want to talk about him, but doesn't think she can with me? What if she actually misses him?

I grab the baked goods for Haymitch that I had tossed down during the call, and head purposefully over to his house. I definitely need to talk this out.

"Haymitch!" I yell as I let myself in. "Haymitch, wake up!"

I find him asleep in the living room, half in and half out of a chair, shirt untucked, bottle lying empty on his chest, a half-eaten sandwich on the floor under him. He reeks of vomit and geese, and I almost gag when I walk in. I immediately open a couple of windows to let in some fresh air. Most of the place is relatively clean, for Haymitch, anyway. But his corner is strewn with trash of a dubious sort. I shake my head, hoping he's slept enough to be at least coherent when he wakes up.

I put the baked goods in the kitchen, then head back and grab his shoulders with both hands, shaking him hard, yelling once again for him to wake up. I'm so distracted by the phone call that I'm not thinking clearly, as evidenced by my forgetfulness to keep him at arm's length when rousing him. My visual inventory apparently missed the knife he had concealed – where does he keep that when he sleeps, anyway? And once again, I marvel at just how quickly a man can go from comatose to combat mode. Unfortunately, I don't react nearly as quickly enough.

He manages to grab my shoulder at the same time he's launching himself out of the chair at me. The bottle clatters to the floor, and I realize about one-tenth of a second before it happens that Haymitch is going to actually succeed in defending himself this time with that knife. Luckily for me, I suppose, he somehow manages to recognize me as his assailant right before he goes to stab me in the side with his weapon. Unlucky for me, however, he manages to cut my forearm in his attempt to not disembowel me.

"Grrrr….what the…! Dammit, boy, are you _tryin'_ to get yourself killed?!" He's certainly wide awake now.

"Uhhh! Haymitch! Shit, that hurts!"

"Well, whaddya expect – you oughta know better by now!"

I'm grabbing my arm with my other hand as I back away from him.

"Gimme that!" He harshly grabs my arm and removes my hand so he can inspect the damage he's done. "Aw, it's only a flesh wound. You're damn near lucky I didn't do a lot worse. Come 'ere, I've got a bandage or somethin' somewhere."

We go into the kitchen, and after rummaging in a couple of drawers he pulls out an almost empty first aid box. Thankfully, it still contains a couple of bandages that should be large enough to cover the cut. I move to the sink to wash it out first.

"What in the name of all things unholy would possess you to wake me up like that, kid?" He takes a seat at the table, straddling a chair backwards as usual. Then he helps himself to a donut as I work on treating my injury.

I don't even turn around, my mood incredibly sour at this point. "Gale called."

He looks at me, donut halfway up to his mouth, then takes an enormous bite, talking as he chews. "The girl, or you?"

"Me. He called me. Just now."

My back is to him, but I can tell he's watching me. "So, how's Mr. Military doin'?"

Military, huh? I guess I hadn't realized Gale was with the military now. Somehow, it neither surprises me that this is the case, nor that Haymtich knows about it. He always knows a lot more than anyone ever thinks he does. And Gale in the military seems completely logical from what I know of him.

I dry off the cut, grab the bandages from the counter, and join him at the table before I respond. He watches me struggle to put the bandages on before he jerks them away from me and does it himself. I wince a bit as he isn't making any attempt to not inflict further pain.

"He wanted to know how Katniss is doing, whether she still blames him."

Haymitch finishes applying a second bandage, then goes back to his donut.

"He's angry with me," I add.

"Uh huh. So, you never told her, did ya?" He's looking right at me, already well aware of the answer. I just shake my head. Then he surprises me.

"Well, just as well. She's not ready to deal with him."

I sigh my relief, and he snorts.

"Oh come on, you knew that already. Don't tell me you woke me from a sound sleep just to hear me say it."

I'm tired, frustrated, and relieved, and let myself get a little too real with him in response. "It's just nice to know you agree with me, Haymitch."

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head or nothin'. So, what's your real problem?"

"The problem is, I don't like keeping this from her. And I don't think he plans to just wait quietly in another district until she is ready."

We sit for a minute, me thinking through the possible scenarios that creates, Haymitch going after his second donut. "Yeah, well, ain't much you can do about that, kid."

"I could tell her."

He looks at me askance, then snarls, "For whose benefit? Hers, his, or yours?"

"She's going to be pissed at me no matter when she finds out. Why shouldn't I tell her now instead of later? And I definitely don't want her to find out from _him_."

"Uh huh. And you think she's ready to talk about this with you? To talk about him?"

"I don't know. I don't know what she thinks about him. She's never brought him up. We've never talked about any of it – him, Prim, the explosion – none of it."

"Yeah, well, that's not surprising."

Well, it is to me. But again, I'm reminded how similar these two are. "Maybe not, but it's not healthy, either. She has to talk about this stuff. You must know that."

"I don't know nothin' of the sort! And neither do you. She may never talk about it. So what? That's up to her, not you, not him, and most definitely not me."

"Yeah, right. You know if she doesn't talk about this at some point it will cause all kinds of problems for her." I nod my head toward one of the many liquor bottles scattered around the house, clear in my unstated implication to him that as far as I'm concerned, not talking about these issues causes people to make poor choices for coping with them.

He glares at me in response. "Seems to me she's been gettin' along just fine lately. Ever since she started campin' out at your place each night. In fact, I think I even heard her humming the other day when she tossed that quail in through my back door. So, seems to me that whatever _therapy_ you're givin' her each night is workin' just fine for her." He's chortling now, clearly smug and amused with himself.

I scowl at him, trying to convey with my look just how much of a pervert I think he is, before saying, "It's not like that Haymitch, and you know it. I told you the other morning – we just sleep, that's all. Just like the train. We both sleep better together."

He just looks at me, a look that says he clearly doesn't believe me. I hate that look.

"Look, kid, I don't _wanna_ know all the details of what you and the girl are doin' together. Believe me. Don't matter to me one way or the other. But, so far, it's pretty damn obvious she's doin' loads better than before you got here. So, I say, keep doin' what you're doin', and forget about the rest of it. You gotta learn to trust your instincts more, boy."

That's the closest thing to a compliment I think he may have ever said to me, and I nod in appreciation.

"Thanks, Haymitch. I gotta get into town." I get up to leave.

"Hey kid!"

"Yea?"

"Next time you wake me like that, I'm not gonna go so easy on you. Just sayin'."

"I'll keep that in mind, Haymitch," I reply, shaking my head and laughing as I walk out.

* * *

Despite the rocky start to my morning, I was feeling much better by the time I left the site of the new bakery to head home in the afternoon. Thom had assigned two crews to work on the bakery/café, as we wanted to be sure to finish by early fall. So, we were making a lot of progress setting the foundation and beginning the framing. I had been able to spend most of the morning nailing boards into place, which, despite my injured left arm, had been very therapeutic in terms of working out some of my stress from the call with Gale this morning. Thom had also given me a catalog from which I could start ordering some of the appliances, fixtures and supplies I would need for the bakery and the café to open. I had already planned on using my savings from my victor's payments to pay for everything Sae would need, and Katniss had even offered to help as well if money ran short at any point.

As I make my way home now, I can't stop thinking about Katniss and what, if anything I should tell her about Gale. As much as I hope that I am overreacting – that when she does finally find out she will not think it was that big of a deal that Gale had visited me and that I hadn't told her about it – I am pretty sure I'm not wrong about my concern. So, I'm desperately trying to figure out how to avoid a monumental argument.

Instead of going right inside to start baking, I decide to head out to the garden to do a little bit of work. The plants had taken root much better than I thought they would, though we'd had to put some netting over a few of them to keep the deer and other animals from eating them at night. As I pull a few weeds, I also check on the progress of the plants, taking my time watering and pruning them. I enjoy gardening, but the day is warm, so I toss my workshirt to the side and spray my hair with some water from the hose to cool off before setting it down and going back to weeding and pruning the second row.

As I stand up to stretch and move to the next plant I only have about a second to focus on the fact that Katniss is standing at the end of the row. I start to stand up and greet her, noticing the huge grin on her face, when she points the hose right at me and sprays my entire chest with water.

"Hey! Katniss –" My hands instinctively raise up in front of me in self-defense, but they are useless to stop the jet stream and I am quickly drenched, dripping water from everywhere. She finally relents, laughter overtaking her, and lowers the hose, practically bent over because she's laughing so hard.

I wipe the water away from my face, taking only a split second to decide to retaliate. I lunge in her direction, but I'm not aiming for her, actually, which I correctly gamble she won't anticipate. Instead, I lunge for the hose, grabbing it several feet from the end, but yanking it with all my strength so that I essentially strip it from her hands, causing her to lose her footing and land flat on her bottom in the grass.

"You are so gonna get it!" Just as she realizes what's happening and is about to bolt in the opposite direction, I manage to get my hand on the nozzle and soak her completely as I continue advancing on her. She starts shrieking my name, defending herself with her own hands as ineffectively as I did moments ago.

To block her escape away from me, I circle around her so that her only path for retreat is straight into the side of the house, or into the garden itself. Realizing she's cornered, she opts for the offensive instead. She tries to charge me, but I deflect most of her progress by keeping the hose at her shoulders – I don't want to hurt her, but that's high enough to keep a good shower in her face, impeding her vision. I back up a few steps, laughing as her hair starts matting itself to her cheeks and forehead. But then she takes me by surprise yet again.

Katniss dives towards me, literally lunging for my legs below the knees. I'm so shocked, that I release the nozzle, cutting off the stream of water, and topple over backward onto the ground, dragging the hose across my body as I fall. Now I'm in trouble.

She's quick, and with steely determination in her eyes, she scrambles up from her tackle and grabs for the nozzle once more. I manage to quickly move it from my right hand to my left, though, and now we are practically rolling around in the grass-quickly-turning-to-mud in our battle for control of the water source. The nozzle fires indiscriminately a couple of times as we wrestle for it, soaking each of us in turn anew.

Though she may have temporarily gained the advantage with her unanticipated low blow, I know this contest is over. _She_ is not the one who almost won the wrestling tournament in school. She's quick, and quite slippery at this point due to her soaked clothes and skin, but after letting her think she's getting close to besting me, I easily use my good leg, one arm around her waist and my distinct weight advantage to roll her under me, pin her on the ground face down, and wrench the nozzle out of her hand all at the same time.

I straddle her backside, holding one wrist firmly enough so she can't turn over but lightly enough not to hurt her, and with my other hand point the hose at the back of her head.

"Give?" I am going to enjoy this.

"You wouldn't!" she declares.

"Oh, but I so would," I snicker. And I adjust the setting on the nozzle head to be more of a shower than a stream and proceed to soak her head. She screams again, yelling for me to stop, which I do after about 15 seconds.

"Come on – say it," I tease.

She finishes spitting water out of her mouth, tries to look like she's glaring at me instead of enjoying herself, and retorts, "You can spray me all day, Peeta Mellark, I will never give in to you."

I consider this a direct challenge. I assess our position, and immediately decide on my next course of action. I shake my head, and position the hose as if I'm about to drench her again.

"You asked for it." I even start to squirt her once more. But when she squeezes her eyes shut in defense against the oncoming torrent, I toss the hose aside, release her wrist and with both hands start tickling either side of her ribcage.

I don't even know for sure whether Katniss is ticklish, actually. But I decide to take advantage of the situation to find out. I am not disappointed.

She gasps loudly as she realizes what's happening, and then squeals, as I have never heard her squeal before, and peals of laughter erupt from her in between pleas to stop, stop, stop! I am in heaven. I feel a little guilty for indulging in this pleasure at her expense for a few seconds more than I should, but eventually cease my movements, though I do not remove my hands from her sides.

"And now, Miss Everdeen? Now, do you concede?"

She is squirming, trying to see if there is any way for her to escape, but I sit even more firmly on top of her and squeeze with my fingers just a touch to reinforce that she is completely at my mercy.

I don't think Katniss has had as much trouble saying anything else out loud as the words she finally utters. "Fine, Peeta. You win."

As the glee surfaces on my face, I don't even have time to raise myself up when we both are shocked by the sound of clapping.

Haymitch is standing about 20 feet away, a smirk on his face, applauding. "Well done, kid! Well done! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself, I don't think. Looks like you've finally met your match, sweetheart."

I am scrambling to get off of Katniss and stand up as quickly as I can, the whole time shooting daggers at Haymitch with my look. Must he _always_ intrude at the worst possible time?

Katniss, looking practically feral, is up and scowling fiercely before I'm even steady on my feet.

Haymitch just laughs at our discomfort, then says, "Ho ho, don't even think about it, doll! I won't be nearly as nice about taking you down as bread boy, here. I suggest you just put that idea out of your head right now. And while you're at it, you may wanna think about headin' in the house to get, uh, _dry_."

He nods toward her, looking down just enough to make me gulp as I track his line of sight. Katniss' shirt is so wet, it's practically see-through. I grimace and feel my cheeks blaze as I quickly step in front of her, my back to her so I'm facing Haymitch and effectively blocking his view. I'm about to make a snide remark about how old he is but he just waves his hand as he turns to walk off, adding "Nothin' I ain't seen before, kid. Settle down."

I don't really know how much of Haymitch's message Katniss caught onto, so without fully turning to face her, I say, "Let's get inside – I'll get you a towel and some dry clothes to put on." I start walking for the porch and front door, scanning the rest of the neighborhood just to make sure no one else is within leering distance. Thankfully, she follows me, grabbing her hunting bag and gear on the way in.

Once we're inside, I start heading up the steps quickly, well aware that I'm dripping water everywhere. "I'll just grab you some dry clothes and a towel. Be right back." I head into my bedroom, peeling my sopping wet shirt off as I go and tossing it onto the bathroom floor. From my dresser, I pull two t-shirts, a pair of jeans for me, and a pair of sweatpants for her, which I have to actually root around for before finding a pair that I think might actually fit her well enough. A fleeting thought crosses my mind that it would be a lot easier if Katniss kept some of her clothes over here, just in case.

I move from the dresser to the bathroom and pull two towels from the cabinet. I turn to head toward the bed so I can change before I go downstairs again, only to find Katniss standing in my room. She is still dripping wet, but has left her boots downstairs. She's looking right at me.

"Oh – I would have been down in a second, I was just going to change first."

She doesn't say anything, nor does she take her eyes off of me. I take a couple steps toward her, tossing the clothes I had retrieved from the dresser onto the bed. I am willing myself to look anywhere but where my eyes are headed, but I'm not successful. I swallow hard as I take in the way her wet shirt clings to her chest, accentuating her curves, revealing the chill she must be feeling.

I literally force myself to raise my eyes, shifting my gaze north, where her hair, disheveled and soaked, falls awkwardly in clumps over her shoulders, while smaller tendrils lie flat against the glistening skin of her cheeks and forehead. She is amazing, and my body reacts with primal instincts. I want her so badly.

I catch her gaze, and see hints of my own desires reflected in her eyes. Is this possible? Could Katniss feel even a fraction of the want and need for me that I do for her? The possibility only deepens the ache I feel.

I watch, amazed, as she steps toward me now, reaching a hand out toward my arm. I drop the towels I had draped over my arm, unwittingly revealing the bandages Haymitch had applied this morning.

I roll my eyes at myself as I see the crease form between her brows. The mood is immediately and decidedly changed.

"Peeta, what's this? What happened to you?"

"It's nothing, really, just a small cut." _Please, please, please, let it go_. The absolute last thing I want to do right now is get into a long explanation of how this happened, because that can only end in one place – Gale's call. And I _so_ don't want to go there right now.

"A cut? How did that happen? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, really. It's okay. Now, where were we?" I'm hopeful that a well executed kiss can take her mind off of this and take us back to about 30 seconds earlier. I pull her toward me, leaning down to kiss her, but she is not having it right now. I sigh as she puts her hands on my chest, holding me at bay.

"Did you have another episode?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I promise."

She's looking at me expectantly, standing there in her wet, completely ineffective t-shirt, with a look on her face that makes it clear _nothing_ is going to happen here until I produce a satisfactory explanation for my injury.

"Look, I was careless waking up Haymitch this morning, and he accidentally managed to catch me with his knife before I could back up. It's no big deal."

Poor Haymitch – he really cannot win with her lately.

"Honestly – that man! But why would you even wake him, Peeta? Usually you just drop stuff off."

Images of soft, tender or even fervent moments together slip away as I realize I cannot avoid this conversation without lying to her, which I refuse to do. Resigning myself to the impending conflict, I bend down to retrieve the towels and hand one to her.

"I needed to talk to him about something."

She raises her eyebrow.

I step around her to the bed and pick up the shirt I tossed there a minute ago. I may have to have this conversation, but I don't have to have it unclothed. I put the shirt on, grab the jeans and head to the bathroom. "Gimme a minute. You might as well change, too."

I close the door to the bathroom and remove the rest of my wet clothes, debating for a moment whether or not to grab a quick, and cold, shower, but then just put on my jeans. Before heading out, though, I lean on the counter and close my eyes, preparing myself to ride out the storm I'm about to encounter. When enough time has passed that I'm fairly certain she should be decent again too, I call through the door.

"Are you done?"

"Yes."

I take the towel to my hair as I open the door, and am surprised to find her standing exactly where I left her, still dripping, wet shirt still clinging and revealing. Our eyes lock, I stop drying my hair, and the way she's looking at me undoes any progress I made in the bathroom settling myself. I'm fairly confused, though, as I expected to be assaulted by questions about my talk with Haymitch at this point.

"You didn't change." _Brilliant_ , I think. _Way to impress_.

"No." Her tone takes me by surprise. I haven't heard it before – a sultry, soft, seductive tone, that I'm fairly certain isn't even intentional on her part, but is effective nonetheless. We've shared many passionate kisses, yes, but we haven't done anything more than grope one another through our clothes. I've managed to control myself, wanting her to set the pace. But here, now, that self-control is quickly slipping away from me. It may just disappear entirely if she continues to look at me that way and use this new voice.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" My voice is low, throaty, insistent. I refuse to take any chances here. I need her to tell me what she's thinking.

She walks over to me, lifts her hand to brush some hair from my forehead, moves it to my lips, and brushes them with her thumb. Then, she lowers it down to my chest, laying it flat against me. She's looking at her hand there when she finally responds, "I'm not sure, I just…"

She stops, tugging on her bottom lip, not moving in any other way, though I can sense the internal tug-of-war she's engaging in just from that one simple action.

I bring my hands up to her arms, holding them firmly, and ask, "Katniss, what do you _want_?"

I know the answer to that question – I've sensed it in our kisses, in her wandering hands, in the way she stares at me when she thinks I'm not looking, in the way she's staring at me know, or chewing on her lip. I know at least part of her wants more contact, wants to move forward. But I also know she's hesitating, and that she has to consciously make that choice. I won't make it for her.

She looks up at me now, and I am unhinged by the clarity of the desire in her eyes now. "I want you, Peeta."

* * *


	20. Amazingly Awkward

“Gimme a minute. You might as well change, too.” Peeta walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

I turn to grab the clothes he had laid out for me, but then stop. I don’t _want_ to change clothes, I realize.

Without thinking about it, my hands move to my sides, rubbing against the wet cotton shirt, reminding me of the feel of his hands when he tickled me just a few minutes ago. Yes, the tickling had been insufferable. But the feel of his hands squeezing me, the weight of him on me as I laid underneath him in the grass, was anything but.

When I had come walking up to his house and spied him in the garden, hosing himself down, I had been mesmerized. I knew our kisses and time together were awakening urges in me that were unfamiliar. But watching him, with his t-shirt wet, his hair dripping, the way the sun shone off his muscular arms – it all stopped me dead in my tracks. He had gone back to gardening, and I…it felt like I became someone else. All I wanted to do was be with him, play with him, flirt with him, tease him. I couldn’t stop thinking about getting close to him.

I honestly don’t know where the idea to soak him came from, but I hoped, and perhaps even a part of me had known, that it would end in opportunity. So, I had stealthily crept up on him, anticipation and expectation taking control of me. When I had seen how he had been looking at my own drenched top at the end of it, my desire stirred even more deeply. I had followed him up here with every intention of seizing the opportunity I had created.

Admittedly, I had been thrown for a minute by the unexpected injury on his arm. But he doesn’t seem concerned about it. And as I look at his bed now, I remember the last few mornings waking up next to him, feeling the warmth of his body, his strong arms encircling me, the feel of him, hard, rubbing up against my backside before he fully awakens and repositions himself.

I know he’s been waiting for me. I can sense his holding back when he pulls away from our kisses, when his hands start to stray to new places on my body and he checks himself, when I catch him watching me with lustful eyes when he doesn’t think I’m looking. I appreciate that he’s being sensitive and restrained and patient with me. But right now, today, I know I don’t want him to be that way.

Right now, I want to be reckless. I want to feed this passion that is burning inside me, satiate this hunger that has been growing and gnawing at my core for days. Right now, I don’t want to be careful and cautious and chaste – right now I want him to rip my wet clothes off of me and make my whole body sing the way I’m certain only he can.

“Are you done?” he calls from behind the closed door.

_I haven’t even begun_ , I think, but turn around to face the bathroom door again and simply say, “Yes.”

When he opens the door and steps out I can feel my heart start to beat faster. Rubbing a towel on his wet hair, barefoot in jeans that fit just right and a new t-shirt that sets off the color of his eyes, the feeling of just how attracted I am to Peeta makes me sway. He looks at me, and the surprise on his face is genuine.

“You didn’t change.”

I can barely talk, my mouth is so dry, and all I can get out is a simple, “No.” I cannot take my eyes off of his hands, his shoulders, his chest. I am _drawn_ to him.

“Katniss, what are you doing?”

_I have no idea_ , I think. Then that sinks in full force – I really do not have any idea what I’m doing, how this is done, what I should do. I am not experienced in this at all. The only experience I have is with Peeta from before, when all our contact was orchestrated by the Capitol. Well, almost all. And the experience we’ve had since that first kiss several days ago. But that’s it. I may feel like I’m ready for more, may want to go farther, but I have no earthly idea how to actually go about it.

I move toward him, because that’s what I do when I’m uncertain, I realize. I seek him out. I brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead, but I’m looking at his lips the whole time. So soft, yet strong, powerful, yet soothing. They captivate me. The appearance of my thumb on his lips almost startles me, and I drop my hand down to his chest, not sure where else to put it. How do I tell him I’m ready for more if I don’t have a clue what I’m doing?

“I’m not sure, I just…” I don’t know how to say it – I never do. I never seem to be able to find the words to tell him what’s in my heart. Once again, he guides me, helps me find the way…

“Katniss, what do you _want_?”

That, at least, is an easy question. That I don’t have to think twice about. “I want _you_ , Peeta.”

Those words seem to be enough for him. His lips are on mine with such fervor that he has to hold me up so I don’t fall. And then I feel them – his hands, his large, strong hands – roughly scouring my back, my sides, my hips. Everywhere they touch me ignites my skin with a fire that only makes the rest of my body yearn for that same touch.

I press my fingers into his back, but am frustrated by the shirt that prevents me from touching him directly. I quickly move my hands down to the hem of his shirt, running them up underneath it, moaning as my fingers finally make contact with his bare skin. The smoothness of the scars contrasts with the lightly hairy roughness of his unmarked skin, and I am inexplicably overcome by a sense of just how much I want to taste him, to run my mouth over his back and chest and explore him fully. I grab his shirt on either side, pushing it as high as I can, pulling myself away from our kiss so he can help me yank it off of him.

My hands find his shoulders first, tracing the lines that his muscles create. My fingers twirl the coarse blond chest hairs that run down his middle to his stomach. As I lean forward to kiss him along the valley that forms just where his collarbone ends, I feel his hands tug upward on the wet fabric that still covers me. Once again, he’s waiting for my permission, wants a sign from me that it’s okay to do this. I squeeze his arms, as much as I can since his muscles are so big I can’t get my hands around them, and step back enough so I can see his eyes.

I nod, and then raise my arms with a confidence I don’t really feel. Peeta has not seen me yet, has not seen the damage inflicted by the flames that engulfed me in the Capitol. I feel my insecurity begin to rise as he pulls the resistant, damp shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside. I lower my arms, and instinctively they cross in front of me, shielding me from his gaze. I can’t look at him now, too unsure of myself, certainty that the marred figure before him can only lead to disappointment, or worse, planting itself in my head.

My eyes rest on the waistband of his jeans, and I’m so conflicted between my desire to take those off of him and embarrassment about my own flaws now revealed before him that I don’t even realize he’s cupping my face in his hands until he raises it to look at him. My shoulders, which I also had not been aware had hunched up from being so tense, immediately relax as he looks at me with more tenderness than I’ve seen ever before.

“Katniss, you are beautiful. Every inch of you. Please, don’t hide from me now.”

I can feel the tears begin to form, and marvel once again at how he always seems to be able to say exactly what I need to hear. I reach up for his neck with one hand, move the other to his hip, and hook my finger through the belt loop to pull him toward me for another deep, sensuous kiss that washes away my uncertainty and doubt and replaces it with an urge to be as physically close to him as possible. I lift my leg, curling it around the back of his knee, just as my tongue is curling around his. I am trying to pull us as close together as we can be. His hands move everywhere on my back, rubbing, caressing and pressing my bare skin for the first time. Then they slide lower, moving over the pants I still wear, until I feel them cupping my bottom, gripping and squeezing me. I am vaguely aware of releasing a sound as I practically try to climb onto him where we stand.

He swiftly and easily positions his hands to pick me up, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. I press myself into him, unsuccessfully trying to relieve the ache in my core that threatens to overwhelm me soon, and he moans in response as he moves carefully toward the bed. I release his mouth from mine, placing kisses on his jaw and cheek and neck as I strain to move toward his ear. I know that he especially likes the feel of my tongue in his ear and when I nip at his earlobe, and take advantage of being at almost the same height to give him just some of the pleasure he’s giving me as he holds me up.

He stops as we reach the bed, and I lower my legs from around him and kneel on the bed in front of him, still holding him to me. I turn my head so I can kiss the base of his neck, and feel the straps of my bra lower as his fingers pull them down my arms. He deftly unhooks the clasp on my back, and the wet fabric that remains sticks to my breasts as he gently pushes my shoulders back to separate us. I look down to watch as his hands move to peel the damp bra from me, his fingers grazing each of my breasts as he slowly unveils them. I pull my arms back through the straps, and he tosses the garment to the side as he takes a step back from me.

“I just want to look at you – you’re amazing.”

My cheeks flush as I sit back on my feet, not sure what to do with my hands, feeling very self-conscious as he continues to just stare at me. _This is hardly fair_ , I think to myself. “Peeta…”

He grins, a mischievous, satisfied grin that suggests he knows exactly how uncomfortable I am in this moment. “Katniss, you are going to have to get used to this, because now that I’ve seen exactly how beautiful you are, I am not going to want to take my eyes off of you. Ever.”

He comes toward me, the grin completely gone, a hungry, concentrated look taking its place, and a shiver runs through me. I wrap my arms around his midsection, letting my cheek press against his hard stomach, drawing strength and comfort and reassurance just from being in contact with him again.

He places his hands on my bare shoulders, and gently pushes me back, guiding me so that my legs come out from under me as I lay back against the pillow. He leans down, feathering my cheeks, nose, lips, eyes, and forehead with soft kisses as his fingers tread so lightly over my stomach, hovering just above my own waistline, and I inadvertently arch into his touch.

Softly, he whispers in my ear. “I want to see _all_ of you, Katniss. And I want you to see all of me. Do you want that, too?”

I don’t trust myself to speak, so all I can do is nod, feeling a rush of heat race from my fingertips to my toes. He stands up again, and starts to undo the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling them out and away from himself to avoid the bulge I am now keenly aware of. He grabs the sides and manages to rid himself of the jeans quickly and easily. His undershorts stick straight out in front, and I am more than curious to see what I know is causing the fabric to protrude so far. But instead of removing his last article of clothing, he leans over again, puts one hand on each side of my hips, grabs my pants, and says, “Your turn.”

I undo the button on my own pants, and push myself up by my feet as he pulls them down around my knees, then slides each leg out, kissing the top of each foot as he lifts it up. After tossing my pants aside, he runs his hands along each of my legs in turn, encircling them, massaging my calves, and kneading my thighs with his fingers. I want to watch him, but am so electrified by his touch as it climbs higher up my leg that I toss my head back into the pillow and moan, loudly.

Encouraged by my reaction, he squeezes both of my thighs, hard, just shy of my panties, and I arch up into him yet again, clenching my ass together and grabbing the bedsheets with both hands. He makes a guttural growl as his lips find the skin just above my panties, kissing and licking and sucking lightly. I am beside myself. “Oh, Peeta, this feels soooo good.”

He smirks. “We are just getting started. Trust me.” His tone leaves no room for doubt that he has definite plans. I feel like I’m just being swept along by waves of pleasure that continue to grow stronger, deeper and more frequent. But Peeta seems to be moving with intent and purpose that completely escape me right now. I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing.

He climbs atop me, legs straddling my thighs, hands holding himself up over me as his mouth traverses my entire body, trailing kisses across my stomach, up my abdomen, and around both of my breasts. “Hold them for me, Katniss. Squeeze your breasts together.”

Dizzy with pleasure, I tentatively move my hands and take both of my breasts in them, cupping them from the sides and pushing them toward one another. My nipples are hard and erect, and I watch Peeta’s gaze as he drinks in the sight of them, eyes darting from one to the other as if he can’t decide which one to take first. “That’s it… yea.”

He glances at me briefly, then without warning lowers his mouth onto my right breast, taking not just my nipple but half of the whole thing in his mouth as he sucks on it, pulling its nipple taught as he backs off of it. He catches my nipple in his teeth, and the exquisitely pleasant pain it causes brings forth yet another moan of sheer pleasure from me.

Then he is literally devouring my breasts with his mouth, kissing, sucking, nipping, tugging at each one in turn. Without realizing it, I am squeezing them harder and harder, straining to raise the one not getting attention up higher until he takes it. Finally, frenzied and panting, my hands fly to his neck, pulling him down to me, crashing our lips together with such force that our teeth scrape just before our tongues find one another. My feet push my groin high enough to grind into his and my entire body explodes with a yearning that takes my breath away.

Peeta’s hands grab my waist as his knees plant firmly on the bed and I feel myself being rolled over so I am now on top of him, falling into his chest, my legs between his, his bulge now poking me just above my quickly dampening panties, unceremoniously and with insistence. I feel his legs push against mine as he brings them together, and I awkwardly separate my own to straddle him and balance myself on the bed. He spies my breasts freely hanging down, and grasps each one with a free hand, kneading and pushing and twisting. My eyes close and my head rolls back as I just revel in the feel of his touch on my bare skin. He squeezes both of my nipples in his fingers, and instinctively my legs squeeze his in response.

I find his eyes again, brilliant, blue, lusty eyes that unnerve and excite me simultaneously. I have never seen this look in his eyes before, and it makes me want to kiss him and laugh at the same time. He just looks so…intense – a side of Peeta I am not familiar with, but which I definitely want to get to know better if it means getting to feel this way.

“Lean back.” His voice is husky, commanding. I raise an eyebrow at him in response, and he puts his hands on my hips to guide me. I place my hands on top of his thighs for support, and he moves his hands to rest on the top of my thighs.

“You certainly seem to know what you’re doing,” I tell him. I begin to wonder if my lack of experience and knowledge will somehow disappoint him.

“Katniss, I’ve been imagining being with you for years. So I have a lot of ideas, yes. But I don’t have a lot of experience, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I hadn’t really been asking that, I tell myself, but I’m happy to hear it nonetheless. I smile at him to let him know.

“I want to touch you now. Is that okay?”

I must look confused by his question, because he laughs, not meanly, but genuinely and affectionately, the way an adult might laugh at a small child who doesn’t understand something obvious.

“Haven’t you been doing that already?” I ask.

Instead of answering with words, he moves one of his hands to my center, pressing his thumb on the wetness there. My mouth immediately forms an “Oh” and I feel myself press into his hand. The sensation is so fierce, so enveloping, that I grunt more than moan in response. No one has ever touched me there before, and the few times my own fingers have wandered there they failed to elicit such an overpowering reaction.

Peeta grins, clearly satisfied by my response. “No, I haven’t been _doing that already_. So, do you want me to continue?”

“Yes,” is all I can manage to get out, in a breathy, desperate whisper.

He starts rubbing and pressing with his thumb, focusing on different spots, sometimes in circles, sometimes up and down, but always with the increasingly wet fabric preventing direct contact. My body takes on a mind of its own, shifting and rocking in response to his touch. Yet as good as he is making me feel, a rising sense of frustration is edging up as well. No matter how I move, no matter how he works me, something inside of me grows increasingly unfulfilled.

“Peeta,” I whine, literally. “Please!” I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

“Please what, Katniss?”

I search futilely for words to describe what my aching body is craving, and can’t find any. The only thing that comes out is “More!” in an exasperated and frantic tone.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, I moan with dissatisfaction as he moves his hand away and pulls me off of him, laying me to his side on my back. Once more, he’s up and hovering over me, only this time instead of straddling me, he uses both hands to pull my panties down, roughly yanking them off my legs and tossing them over his shoulder to land somewhere on the floor.

I feel incredibly exposed now, lying completely naked in front of him. He stares, running his eyes up and down my body, not even touching me, just taking in every inch, every curve, every scar, every blemish, every part of me. I try not to shy away, try not to cover myself up, but as more time passes, I become less and less sure of what’s happening.

“Peeta?” I ask tentatively.

My voice seems to snap him out of his reverie. He looks directly into my eyes, leaning down to rest on one elbow while his other hand caresses my cheek.

“I can’t believe I’m here with you, like this, Katniss. You are so stunning, so gorgeous. I could look at you forever and never take my eyes off you. Thank you, thank you for giving yourself to me like this.”

He leans down, not even waiting for a reply, and kisses me deeply, passionately, leaving no room for doubt about how sincere his words are. When we finally break the kiss, he says, “I want to make you feel good, Katniss. I want to please you, in every way.”

I look at him now, knowing that no one has ever made me feel as good as he does. “You do, Peeta, you make me happier than anyone has ever made me.”

He hugs me fiercely now, squeezing me so tightly to his chest that I can barely breathe. When he releases me, my fingers linger on his chest, pulling at the small hairs there. He kisses my forehead, then says softly, “I want to make you feel _more_.”

He slides his left arm under my neck, hooking it around so his hand rests on my left breast, pulling my shoulders just slightly in to him. Then his right hand moves down my body, fingers lightly touching my skin as they move lower. When he reaches my legs, he gently nudges my left leg back, and then pulls my right leg in between his, so it is essentially pinned in place.

He leans toward me, his mouth close to my ear as he whispers, “Let yourself go, Katniss. Just trust me, and enjoy this.”

And before I understand what’s happening, his fingers are on me, caressing the slick folds of my vagina, spreading the growing wetness seeping out of me all around. My arm is pinned between our chests, but my fingers press deeply into him as a pleasure I have never known cascades over me. All I can think at this moment is how good his fingers feel in my most private place.

He explores me fully, alternating between pressing firmly, lightly tracing my contours, and cupping me with his whole hand. But soon, a finger finds that spot, that one place that blinds all my senses. My entire body shudders as his finger flicks it, and he stills for a moment, taking note of my reaction. Very deliberately, he moves his finger there again, testing to see if I react. His touch there a second time sends shivers down my spine and causes me to flinch and writhe, ineptly attempting to create friction by moving my entire body against his solitary digit. “There we go,” he whispers.

And he begins to rub the spot he has finally located in the most enticing, exasperating, astonishing ways. Faster, slower, harder, softer, directly, indirectly – my senses are overwhelmed with the variations his fingers use to drive me to distraction. He starts out slowly, lightly flicking his fingers over my nub, causing ripples to echo through me with each touch. Then, he presses just a bit, rubbing instead of flicking, and my body moves in perfect countenance to his fingers. Then he backs off again, and I whimper in frustration, wanting, needing to feel the pressure of his deeper touch once again. He teases me for a bit, lightly brushing the bundle of nerves, intentionally toying with and building but deliberately not satisfying the craving he is causing to surge. His fingers move lower, pulling more of the juices from me up and over my hardened, exposed nub. Slippery once again, he begins a purposeful, circular motion that continues to build in speed and pressure. If he weren’t holding me to him, pinning my leg and pulling me in with his arm, I would fly off the bed to escape the intensity of the feelings he’s creating inside me. But as it is, I continue to lose awareness of other parts of my body, until I am solely focused on the mound between my legs, the surging pulses radiating out from my very core.

Just as I think I will shatter into a million pieces, he pushes two fingers inside me, and I scream because I don’t have a choice – I have to get the sound out before I implode. He thrusts into me again, and I push  my body as hard and as far as I can against his hand, trying desperately to touch a place deep inside me that can only be soothed by the reach of his fingers. I don’t even know how I know this, but I do. Every fiber of my being needs his touch to reach just a little bit farther, a little bit deeper. Straining against him, I bite into his shoulder, muffling a sob that is borne of pure pleasure.

Barely aware of what’s happening to me, my nerves explode once more as I feel myself clench down on his fingers when his thumb finds my sweet spot again, flicking it side to side, not roughly, not softly, but with just enough pressure that my mind can finally identify what my body had been craving. The tension-filled dam breaks, and my body tightens and stills in a way that I can’t control, am barely even aware of. Currents of release flood through me, as if every muscle, every bone in my body has been turned to water. I crumple in Peeta’s arms, breathing the only movement I can manage.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of me, wiping them on the sheets behind him. His hand moves to my hair, stroking it softly as his lips brush the top of my head. We lie wrapped together for a few minutes, lightly tracing small patterns on each other’s arms and backs. Finally, he says, “That’s how I want to make you feel, every day.”

I laugh softly, “Fine by me, but only at night. I’ll never go out hunting again if you do this to me in the morning.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Your wish is my command. Evenings it is, then.”

He shifts slightly now, trying to get more comfortable, and I feel that familiar bulge bump into my stomach once again. He’s still wearing his boxers, though.

“Peeta, no fair. You’ve seen all of me…” I try to push myself up on my elbow, but don’t quite make it. He rolls onto his back, pulling me with him so my head rests on his chest now. I scoot up next to him, lying on my side, draping my leg over his.

He grins. “I think you might need some more time to…recover.”

I swat him playfully. “I am not recovering, just enjoying the moment,” I protest.

“Well, I’d love to give you more moments like that to enjoy,” he teases.

This time I do manage to prop myself up and sit beside him. “Tempting as that may be, Mr. Mellark, I do believe you are overdressed for this occasion.”

“You have me there, Miss Everdeen.”

He doesn’t make any move to undress himself, and when I look down, I can see the outline of his shaft straining against his underwear.

“Care to help me with this uncomfortable predicament?” He’s watching me, clearly amused with my hesitation, which naturally goads my ‘I’ll show him’ personality into action.

“Not as if I haven’t been in this situation with you before. I think I can handle it.”

He snorts, obviously recalling how I refused to look at him when he was injured in the arena and had to remove his own underwear while I turned away. Only now, I am mesmerized by his form, and eager to see for myself what’s been bumping into me all these mornings.

I position myself farther down the bed, near his thighs. I grab both sides of his boxers, and begin to pull down. They immediately get caught on his erection, and he sits up a bit as I try yanking on them harder to free them.

“Woah! Careful - it doesn’t bend quite like that, Katniss!”

My cheeks blush instantly, and I’m flustered. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

He sits up, gently runs his thumb along my cheek and jaw, and shakes his head. “No, but look, unhook them here first.”

He pulls the middle of his waistband out and downward, freeing himself from the strained fabric, and then nudges my hands, indicating that I can pull the rest of his boxers off now. I free them from his legs, and set them aside. When I look back, he’s laid down again, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the prominent rod sticking straight up from his groin.

It is so…foreign looking. Several thoughts converge in my mind at once – how is something so big not noticeable _all the time_? What is making the top of it glisten like that? Just how long is it? Is that a helmet? There is _no way_ that will fit inside me and feel even remotely good. What, exactly, am I supposed to _do_ with this?

The look on my face must be disconcerting for him, because suddenly he’s propping up on his elbows, looking at me with concern. “Katniss, have you ever….? I mean, haven’t you….? You’ve, uh, _seen_ a man before, right?”

I look from it to him and, since I can’t speak and chew my bottom lip at the same time, merely shake my head indicating no.

“Wow. Okay. I guess I just always assumed that you and…well, no, then. Okay. So, this is what it looks like.”

He’s looking at me with eyes that are pleading for acceptance, uncertainty written all over them. I remember how he said exactly the right thing when he first looked at me naked – how he reassured me, complimented me, allayed my fears. I want to do the same for him, but I don’t think telling him he’s beautiful will have the same effect. So, I do what I do best – I don’t speak, I act.

I lean forward, placing my hands on his face, and kiss him, pouring everything I’m feeling into the kiss. I need him to know how perfect he looks to me, even if I can’t say it out loud yet. When I feel him begin to relax and lie back, I pull away slowly, smiling at him. He smiles back, and runs his hand along my side. I shift myself so that I’m leaning on my left hand, facing him, but my right hand is free to move. I turn my attention back to his middle, and tentatively move my hand toward his shaft.

I have no idea what will feel good, what he expects me to do, but I am immensely curious. I take my index finger and touch the slippery substance I see at the top on one side. It feels thicker than water, but not as thick as oil or lotion. It’s completely clear, and when my finger touches him it slides smoothly. He lets out a soft, “Mmmmmm,” and closes his eyes, so I take this as encouragement.

I move my finger to the bottom and start to drag it back toward the top, but the wetness dries up quickly and my finger doesn’t glide over the part of it that isn’t wet. It feels like soft, supple leather wrapped around a piece of wood. I can see veins just under the pinkish-red skin that is clearly pulled taut. I move my finger up to the ridge that encircles it about an inch from the top, and note with satisfaction that Peeta takes a sharp breath in as I trace the ridge all the way around. The “helmet,” as I’ve taken to calling it in my head, is much smoother on top, with a split on one side where the slippery substance pools. I use my finger to spread more of it around the rim, making multiple circles. I remember how good the circles Peeta’s fingers made felt on me, and try to imitate that movement as best I can on him.

I’m so focused on what I’m doing that I don’t notice his hand until it grabs my wrist, stilling my quickening movement. I look back at his face, and he’s smiling at me.

“If just one of your fingers feels this good, I can’t wait to see how good all five of them feel.”

I look at him quizzically, and he releases my wrist. “Can you show me?” I ask.

He nods, and first uses his index and middle finger to gently shake the base a few times. Then, he moves to take his full length in his hand. He curls his fingers around, and starts stroking himself, up and down. I’m watching intently, fascinated, when he says, “Do you want to try now?”

I look at him and nod, and he moves his hand away. I reach out, trying to take hold of him the way he did with his own hand. The angle is a little awkward, though, and I have to adjust how I’m sitting so I’m more kneeling next to him. But as I wrap my hand around his cock, I note how his hips shudder and he lets out a breath that sounds almost like a hiss. I grasp him lightly, marveling at how warm he feels in my hand. With my hand holding him loosely, I try moving up and down the way he did. I look toward his face to see what reaction he has, but his eyes are closed, lips parted slightly.

I look back at his dick in my hand, and suddenly I have the urge to squeeze it, so I do. Both his hands fly almost instantly to mine, and he even sits up a little. “Not so hard!” he gasps. He must see the look of horror and chagrin on my face, because he places one of his hands over my own, saying “Here, like this.”

He closes his hand firmly but not tightly over mine, and we start rubbing his cock together, both our hands moving up and down, sliding his skin over the hardness underneath, making the helmet disappear and reappear as we move. I am intrigued, so much so, that I barely notice when his hand relaxes and drops away. I keep the same rhythm, watching earnestly how this strange part of him works, responds to my touch. I notice more of the wetness leaking out of him, and release my hold on him just long enough to use my hand to collect some of it and spread it around him. He moans as I resume my stroking, sliding much easier now with the slickness I’ve created. I keep going, a steady, strong rhythm, that seems to be pleasing him.

Softly, he whispers, “Faster, just a little…”

I pick up my pace, and immediately see muscles in his legs and abdomen tightening.

“Katniss, this is…you are…oh my….”

I smirk to myself, happy with my ability to finally render Peeta Mellark speechless.

I quicken my pace even more, and now I am sliding and squeezing and feeling bold enough to experiment just a little in how I use my hand on him. He’s groaning and breathing heavier, and I wonder what’s supposed to happen next, when he grabs my leg with urgency.

“Katniss, I’m…watch out…”

I’m trying to figure out what he’s telling me when his whole body stiffens, stills and he lets out a very loud “Aaaahhhhh!” as I feel something hot, sticky and wet cover my hand. I look down in time to see a milky white liquid spurting out of his “helmet” all over my hand, his stomach and even his one leg. I’m so startled I jerk my hand away and almost fall over backward in the process.

“Woah,” is all I can say, looking from my hand to Peeta’s face to his dick, which is falling a bit to the side now, looking very different from the exploding fountain I was holding seconds ago.

“I’m so sorry. It just felt so good. I tried to warn you. Oh god, are you okay? That was so great, please don’t be upset.”

Peeta is babbling, but I am grinning. I turn to look at him, holding my sloppy hand up off the covers, not really knowing what to do with it. He stops talking when he sees the look on my face, though.

“That was…fun,” I tell him. And his face lights up with a smile that melts my heart.

“You’re telling me,” he responds.

I look at my hand now, the stickiness becoming uncomfortable. “Uh, so, should I get a towel or something?”

He looks around and tells me to grab his shirt lying on the floor. I hop down from the bed and pick it up, then wipe my hand off on it before handing it to him. He cleans himself off, tosses the soiled shirt away, then scoots over and holds out his arm, indicating for me to lie down next to him.

I fold myself into his embrace and look in his eyes. He’s gazing at me with such a look, it makes me avert my eyes.

“Katniss, you are incredible. I never expected this to happen so soon, but, wow. I just can’t believe how good it is to be with you this way.”

I laugh a little, and look back into his eyes. “When I saw you earlier today, in the garden, I just…something just came over me. I don’t know. I wanted to be close to you, to do this with you.”

He strokes my cheek, pushing my hair behind my ear, smiling at me.

“Anytime you want to do this, feel free. I’ll even let you spray me with the hose every day if it means we get to do this afterward.”

I push him away gently, scoffing at his teasing, but I know I definitely want to do more of this with him. Right now, though, I’m sleepy, and I unsuccessfully try to stifle a yawn.

“Come here.”

Peeta rolls me over so that my backside is to his chest, and our bodies fit perfectly together, knees bent, ankles intertwined, his arm over my waist. But I don’t feel a bulge poking me in the behind right now. I just feel warm breath on the back of my neck, and lace my fingers through his. Before I drift off, though, I feel compelled to tell him. I want him to know.

“Peeta?”

“Hmmm?” He sounds sleepy, too.

“Thank you.”

“Mmmmm. For what?”

“For waiting for me. For coming back to me. For taking care of me. For being with me.”

He squeezes me, nuzzles his chin into my hair by my ear, and whispers, “Always.”


	21. Trust

Something is tickling my nose. I swat at it, refusing to open my eyes, but it starts up again. I am so tired, I roll over, trying to evade whatever is disturbing my peaceful slumber. Then it starts again, and this time I growl as I open my eyes to crush the insect or tear apart the fabric that refused to take the hint. Instead, I am met by a boyish grin, eyes lit up like fireflies, and the tail of very ornery cat pointed right at my face.

"PEETA!" I grumble, and pull a pillow over my head in defiance.

"Good morning, gorgeous!"

"Is not."

"Every morning with you in my bed is a good morning."

I smile under the pillow but say nothing. I don't want to encourage him. My lack of response doesn't seem to phase him in the least, however, as the next thing I know all the covers disappear from atop me and I am lying naked but for the pillow on my head.

"Come on, Katniss, we need to stock up some more meat, and they're hanging the new sign at the bakery today. Breakfast is already downstairs. It's a big, big, day!" Using his best Effie impression for this last bit, he lifts the pillow, peering at me with that huge grin again as he kisses my cheek and leaves the room.

I peek out, and see that the sun is only barely rising outside. I moan to myself, but roll out of bed and head to the dresser to pull out fresh clothes. Peeta is such a morning person it's annoying. Mostly in an adorable, lovable way, but still annoying. I used to think of myself as a morning person, seeing as how I regularly get up early to go out and hunt in the early hours of the day. But I've discovered, since spending the night here every day, that I've got nothing on a baker when it comes to getting up early.

Since that day two weeks ago, when I found the courage to admit and even pursue the physical feelings I have for Peeta, we've spent every night together here at his house. About a week ago, Peeta finally pestered me enough to agree to bring a few things over here from my house, since we spend the majority of our time here anyway. So, I had reluctantly allowed him to clear out one drawer in his dresser, and had accepted the toothbrush and hairbrush he picked up from the store for me with a reminder that these were only concessions borne out of necessity and convenience. He didn't seem to care.

Truth is, I kind of like having some of my things here, too. Though I can't possibly tell him that, at least not yet anyway. I can't imagine staying at my house alone anymore, especially now that Peeta and I are growing closer and more fully exploring our relationship. I let that word roll around in my thoughts as I head to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I certainly can't deny any longer that Peeta and I are in a relationship. We may not spend all of our time together, but we certainly spend most of it. And what's more, I notice that I think about him constantly when I'm not with him. Except for hunting, when I seem to be able to still focus enough to clear my head, he is in my thoughts almost non-stop.

And many of those thoughts are surprisingly pleasant memories of how the two of us are learning about one another, more specifically, about one another's bodies and what feels good. I feel the blush creep deep into my cheeks as I think about the time we've been spending exploring each other, touching each other, drawing out sounds from each other that are only meant for our own ears. We agreed that we both wanted to wait before we cross that last threshold together, and I was embarrassingly relieved and happy to find out that Peeta had not already done so with another girl. Until we're both ready to share that first experience, we are enjoying getting to know each other more intimately. He has an incredible body, and my thighs rub up against one another just thinking about his muscular back, tight ass, strong arms and unbelievably talented hands. I splash cold water on my face and scowl at myself in the mirror. I have got to get myself under control.

Once I'm dressed and my hunting boots are laced up, I head downstairs. In the kitchen Peeta has set out toasted bread, orange juice, and some eggs. He puts the dishes in the sink and joins me at the table to eat. Buttercup is lying by the stove, flicking his tail back and forth. He must be the only cat in all of District 12 that doesn't have to earn his keep.

"So, the new sign's going up at the bakery today? It's not finished, is it?"

"No, just the exterior. We still have all the interior work to do, but that shouldn't take more than a month or so to finish. The appliances and supplies are due to arrive next week, I think. But I want to get the sign up now so people can start looking forward to buying fresh bread as soon as we're ready to open."

Peeta is so excited about the bakery opening. He's been talking about the progress they're making with the building, all the different kinds of baked goods he wants to offer, plans for the café and more for a few weeks now. Part of me is excited for him, but part of me is also worried that once the bakery opens, I'll see a lot less of him every day. I try not to let him see my concern, though. He deserves this happiness.

In fact, as he's talking now, an idea occurs to me. I want to support and encourage him, and this milestone seems like a good opportunity to do something special for him.

"Well, maybe we could celebrate this evening?"

He smiles broadly. "I would love that! What did you have in mind?"

I decide then to try my luck at surprising him. I have my doubts about being able to do anything that will impress him – he's always the thoughtful one who knows how to make people, especially me, feel appreciated and special. But I've been so happy these last couple of weeks, mostly due to him, that I want to try to return the favor in some small way. Have to be careful not to set his expectations too high, though.

"Nothing big, just meet me at the market around 4:00, okay?"

"A surprise, huh? I can't wait." He grins devilishly.

"Really, Peeta, it's not a big deal. Okay? There's just something I want to show you."

"Anything you want to show me I definitely want to see. I'll be there."

I roll my eyes at his cheesy reply, and we finish up breakfast. I grab my gear and head out to hunt. Just after Peeta talked Sae into working at the café, he ordered an enormous freezer from the Capital, which we set up temporarily in my kitchen since we make all our meals at his house. But this way, I can catch as much game as I can each day, and store whatever we don't need right away in the freezer in preparation for the café being up and running. Once that is built, we'll move the freezer there, and I'll just take the game straight to the café and let Sae decide what to do with it.

The morning is fairly mild for this time of year. It's not quite fall yet, but I can sense its approach in the way the wind rustles the leaves, the deep blue hue of the sky above, and the subtle shift in the still warm air that indicates summer's retreat and autumn's advance. I have a very productive morning in the woods, bringing back so much game between my arrows and snares that I lose track of my total haul. I may have been reluctant at first about the idea of trying to supply enough game for the whole district via the café, but my new hunting grounds seem to be prolific in supplying me with rabbits, foxes, squirrels, quail, turkeys and many other kinds of animals. The stream is not quite large enough to provide good fishing, and I fleetingly think to myself that, perhaps, I might be able to go to the lake again next spring. Perhaps.

With so much game to clean, I head back to my house by midday, as it takes a lot longer to prepare all the game for the freezer, and I still have some preparations to make for this afternoon's outing with Peeta. So, when I see Haymitch out in his yard feeding his geese, I don't stop to chat as I make my way into my kitchen. I pull all the animals out of my bag, creating a sizable pile on the counter. He shows up at the back door a couple of minutes later, flask in hand of course, just as I'm starting to skin the first fox.

"Somebody sure has been busy." He takes a seat at the table, leaning way back in his chair and taking a swig.

"You could make yourself useful, you know, and help out. I know you know how to do this."

"True, but I wouldn't want to show you up in your own kitchen, sweetheart. What would Effie say about _them_ manners?" He smirks at me.

I sigh, and shake my head in annoyance. Sometimes I get so irritated with Haymitch's victoresque lifestyle – no work, drinking all the time, crude remarks. But then I remember that he had to endure years, no decades of being the sole victor and then mentor from District 12, that if it weren't for him, Peeta and I wouldn't be here, that he's saved my life or my sanity almost as many times as Peeta has. My irritation subsides pretty quickly every time, though I vow to never let him see that.

"So, how's bread boy?" He's got that teasing tone again.

"He's fine."

"And you? Everything fine with you, too?" He takes another swig, but doesn't take his eyes off of me.

"Yes. Why? Since when do you care how the two of us are doing?" I know that's not really the case, but he never comes out and asks. That's not like him at all.

"What? I can't express an interest in my two _neighbors_?"

I just cock an eyebrow and glare at him. He doesn't respond, though. Instead, he asks a question that makes my skin crawl.

"Any interesting mail, lately?"

I stab the knife I've been using to gut and skin the animals into the countertop. "Spill it, Haymitch. What's going on?"

"Nothin', sweetheart. Just wanted to make sure you weren't hidin' somethin' from me, is all. Seems Paylor wants me to visit her in the Capital, and I wanted to see if you and the kid had received any invitations yourselves."

President Paylor wants Haymitch in the Capital? Immediately my mind starts racing with all kinds of horrid possible explanations. He must see it on my face.

"Now, now, don't go gettin' all worked up. If I had to guess, it's probably to get a report outta me on you, seein' as how I haven't seen the need to tell 'em word one about what's goin' on with you out here since we got back. After all, I am technically still your _guardian_ , remember? She probably just wants to know that you're still sane and not goin' to go after her next." He laughs a little, in an obvious attempt to reassure me and lighten the conversation. I don't buy it.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"How long?"

"Don't know."

"Don't go."

"Well, I was thinkin' about blowin' her off, but I do find myself in need of some additional refreshment. Figured I'd take the opportunity to stock up a bit."

Clearly he doesn't think this is something he can get out of. That causes me even more concern.

"Why can't she just call you?"

I can tell he was hoping I wouldn't bring that up. He looks concerned for half-a-second, before he covers it up with a typical attempt at humor and his signature smirk. "Guess she just misses my handsome mug too much to do this over the phone."

He gets up gruffly, heading for the door. "Tell the kid, okay? I need him to feed the geese with some bread while I'm away."

I nod silently, and he turns to head out. But he stops on the first step outside the door and turns back. "It's fine, sweetheart. I'll see you again soon." And he leaves.

I stand still for a few minutes, thoughts racing to places I don't want to go. Slowly, I pick up the knife again, and start going through the motions of preparing the dead animals for the freezer. I can do this practically with my eyes closed it's such a familiar process. But today, I wish it required more concentration on my part.

Finally, I finish wrapping up the last of the meat in the butcher paper we bought, and clean up the kitchen. I only have about an hour before I'm supposed to meet Peeta at the market, so I quickly shower and change, willing my thoughts to wander to my "surprise" for Peeta instead of lingering on my conversation with Haymitch.

I go to my closet to pick out clothes, and deliberate for several minutes over whether to wear a blouse with a skirt or pants. I want to look nice for Peeta, but knowing where we are going, I opt for a pair of not-quite-so-practical pants instead of the skirt. I'll just have to save that for another day.

I quickly braid my hair and head back downstairs, grabbing a blanket and basket from the closet before heading to Peeta's house. I'm hoping he's not home, and that he's gotten caught up at the bakery and will just come straight to the market to meet me. I'm not disappointed. The house is empty, and I quickly go to the kitchen to gather the supplies I need, filling the basket. Then, I run upstairs to Peeta's painting room, and look around, trying to decide what to bring. I settle on a rolled up piece of blank canvas, a jar of oil pastels, a medium size paintbrush, and a small, portable set of paints. I manage to get the pastels, brush and paints into the basket as well, so I only have to carry the canvas and blanket, which I manage to combine in such a way that you can't see the canvas hidden in the blanket. I glance at the clock, and head out the door, growing more and more excited that my plan is coming together as I make my way to the market.

As I walk up, I see that Peeta is already there, standing outside talking with Rowan and Blane from his crew. He lights up when he sees me, and spies the blanket and basket I'm carrying. When I get close enough, he reaches to take the basket from me, and leans over to kiss my cheek. I'm not used to other people being around when we are affectionate with each other, and inwardly groan at the blush that I can feel on my cheeks as he pulls away. But he takes my hand, and smiles warmly.

"So, a picnic, huh?"

I nod, not wanting to give anything away yet.

"Sounds great."

Rowan looks at me and says, "Any chance you packed enough for four? I'm starving!"

I look at him, nervous and caught off guard by his request. I am definitely not planning on company for our excursion.

But Peeta laughs and handles the request for us. "No way, Rowan! Find your own dinner, or even better your own girl to bring you dinner and plan such a romantic evening. We are celebrating tonight, on our own!"

Rowan laughs, and Blane asks, "What's the celebration?"

All three look at me, and I stammer trying to think of something witty, but I'm not witty, so I just blurt out, "The new sign?"

Blane looks underwhelmed, Rowan amused, and Peeta ecstatic. "Hey! Do we have time for me to show you the sign before we go? I really want you to see it."

"Sure," I reply. We need about half an hour to climb to the meadow, but I figure we can spare a few minutes to see the cause for our celebration. And I can tell Peeta really wants me to see it.

We say our goodbyes to Rowan and Blane, and make our way back toward the town square and the bakery. I don't spend much time in town, so I find myself looking around, amazed and pleased at the progress that has been made over the last several weeks. Most of the shops have been repaired, and the town square looks almost finished as well, the new gazebo appearing as a welcome and warm replacement to the structures that Thread had built during his reign as head peacekeeper. Benches and flowerbeds are a welcome change from gallows and stocks.

I am distracted by the sight of a group of children running around playing a game together when Peeta stops and pulls me back, looking at me expectantly. I look to him, then look up ahead, and see that we've arrived at the bakery. The building is wooden, painted a beautiful shade of orange, clearly Peeta's handiwork. There is a large display window in front, a few steps leading up to a small landing before the front door, and a wooden railing. Hanging above the door is the sign that apparently went up today. It's a large, wooden, carved sign with a perfect painting of various loaves of bread, muffins, pies and even a small cake. And written above the images is the name, "A Baker's Dozen."

I look at Peeta, who has been watching me this entire time. "It looks great, Peeta. Did you paint it?"

He nods, but is still looking at me expectantly.

"What?"

"Do you know why I chose that name?" he asks.

I look back at the sign briefly to see if I missed something, then look at him again and shake my head.

"Well, a baker's dozen is actually 13, not 12. So, that phrase represents the two places that mean the most to me. District 12, my home, and where I first saw you, and District 13, the place responsible for my rescue and bringing me back to you. And of course, I'm the baker," he adds sheepishly.

I stare at him, openmouthed. I don't know what to say. Peeta never ceases to amaze me with how sweet he is, and this ranks right up there. He's looking at me nervously now, shifting from foot to foot. He's still holding the basket, but he dropped my hand while he was talking. Now he looks like a boy whose just told the teacher why he was pulling the hair of a girl he has a crush on.

I can't think of anything to say in return, so I just lean over to him, and kiss him, on the lips, here in town, where everyone can see. It's not a passionate kiss, only lasts a second or two, and seems to take him by surprise. But when I step back, he is beaming, absolutely beaming at me. Suddenly, I am _very eager_ to get to the meadow.

"It's a perfect sign, Peeta. Thank you for explaining all that to me. Was there anything else you wanted me to see? I kind of want to get going if that's okay."

"No, no, that was it. We can go." He pauses, then adds, "I came straight from work, and haven't showered or anything. Should I try to run home to get cleaned up?"

I just shake my head, replying, "No, you're great just the way you are."

I reach for his hand, and turn us around so we're headed back the way we came.

"So, where are we going, actually?"

"Do you trust me?" I enjoy teasing him like this.

"Implicitly."

We don't say anything else as we make our way past the market and toward the outskirts of town. He glances over at me every now and then, but I just keep walking with a small, satisfied smile on my lips. As we approach the remnants of the fence, he slows a bit.

"The woods, huh? But I thought you went out down by your old house?"

I didn't realize he had any idea what part of the woods I used to go to. I'm momentarily flustered, as I don't want to get into a big conversation about why I don't go there anymore. But clearly he's curious.

"I used to. But I go here now. There's something out here I want you to see."

He looks at me, trying to read what's on my mind, but I smile at him reassuringly, and he seems to accept that this is enough of an explanation for now.

"Ok, then, lead on."

We step through the gap in the fence and make our way into the forest. The sun is still high in the sky, though I can tell it's begun its descent. We probably have just over 3 hours of good light left, but I'm not worried. This is the time of day I most wanted him to come out here. The setting sun will be spectacular in the meadow.

We're not holding hands anymore now, as Peeta needs his hand free to help him stay balanced as he traverses the unfamiliar ground. Wanting to stay near him, I slow my pace from my normal speed so he can keep up. But we move at a comfortable pace, and pretty soon we are making our way up the slope that leads to the meadow.

"Is it much farther?" Peeta asks, clearly wondering just how long I intend to make him travel.

"Not much." I don't want to give it away – I want him to experience the sight the way I first did when I came upon the meadow unexpectedly. I know it will take his breath away as much as it did mine.

I am not disappointed. As we crest the hill, I step to the side and turn toward him so I can watch his reaction. Peeta is focused on the ground, pulling himself up over the last ridge to the level ground I'm standing on. When he looks up, though, he freezes, his mouth dropping open. I watch him slowly glance around before I turn to look at the vista before us as well.

The meadow is pristine. Birds and butterflies flutter in every direction. The wildflowers are at their peak, straining toward the sky in brilliant colors and hues that put the Capital's fashions to shame. The trees virtually sparkle in the late-day sun, and the grass whispers a soft welcome to us in the breeze.

"Oh, Katniss…" Apparently I've rendered Peeta Mellark speechless.

I hold out my hand to him, completely pleased with myself, and thrilled to finally be sharing this place, this piece of me, with him. "Come on. Let's get settled."

We move toward the center of the meadow, Peeta continually looking around, taking in the beauty and wonder that surrounds us for the first time. I stop, pausing before I unveil my next surprise for him.

He looks right at me, putting the basket down in the grass, and stepping toward me takes my face in his hands.

"Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here. Now I can see why you want to come here every day."

"You're welcome. I've wanted to bring you here for a while now. Today just felt like the right time. I'm glad you like it."

"Katniss, I love it. It's so beautiful here. I just wish…"

I tilt my head at him biting back the smile that threatens to plaster itself all over my face. "Just wish what, Peeta?" I ask in my most innocent sounding voice.

He looks down a little, embarrassed, before looking back at me. "Nothing, nothing. This is just perfect, really."

I laugh a little and he looks at me quizzically. I uncover the canvas from the blanket and hold it out for him. "Just wish you had this, by any chance?"

He grabs the canvas, and then picks me up by the waist and squeezes me as tight as he can. "I can't believe you brought my art supplies! Thank you! That is exactly what I was thinking!"

I laugh out loud, proud of myself for having planned ahead correctly for once. We work together to spread out the blanket, and then I start unpacking what I've brought in the basket. I hand Peeta his art supplies, and he sets them aside. Then, I pull out some bread, cheese, apples, brownies, nuts, leftover quail pieces, water, and even a bottle of wine. I didn't "make" any of it per se, but I still feel good about having put together a decent meal for us to enjoy while we're here.

We decide to eat a bit first, letting the sun sink just a little lower in the sky to enhance the vibrant colors of the meadow and tinge the sky with some of Peeta's favorite colors – the pinks, purples and oranges of sunset. We lie on the blanket together, eating, talking, and just being near each other. It's relaxing and invigorating all at the same time. We spend a lot of time kissing in between bites of food, and I relish the privacy we have as our hands roam freely over one another.

We talk about lots of things I wouldn't expect – our families, Johanna and Annie, gossip from town. Apparently Thom is quite taken with Annaliese, something I find I am more than happy to hear. I never thought of myself as the jealous type, but I have to admit knowing that those two may be seeing each other brings me an unanticipated sense of relief. And Peeta tells me that he wrote a letter to Johanna, concerned that he hasn't heard from her lately. I know the two of them share a bond that will never go away, but for some reason it doesn't bother me. Probably because of the time Johanna and I spent in District 13 together becoming friends. She may tease me mercilessly about Peeta, but I trust her to never come between us.

I ask Peeta about his work crew, and he says that Hasmik has expressed an interest in possibly working for Peeta in the bakery once it's up and running. We know that Peeta will need to bring on employees at some point, but aren't sure how long it might take for the business to generate enough income to support that. But Peeta and I both like Hasmik, and if he can help Peeta run the business, I'm all for it. Hopefully, that will mean less time that Peeta is away from me while he works.

I decide against telling Peeta about Haymitch's upcoming trip. He's so happy, and the evening is so perfect, that I just don't want to ruin it. I can always tell him tomorrow, or even later tonight when we're back at home. So I dismiss the brief thought that flickers in my mind and move on to lighter topics.

The sun is beginning to set in earnest, and I suggest to Peeta that he should start drawing or painting or whatever he wants to while we still have light. I haven't brought my bow and arrow, and while I haven't yet seen any large predators in these woods that would concern me, I do not want to have to find our way back to town in the dark unarmed. He agrees, and starts looking over his supplies and scanning the meadow, trying to decide what to do.

I start packing up the food we haven't eaten, when my hunter's senses send a shiver down my spine. I am immediately alert, eyes scanning the meadow for a threat that I'm not even sure truly exists. Peeta notices my tense posture and calls my name, questioning me. I don't respond. Instead, I stand up, looking around rapidly for the source of my anxiety.

"Katniss, what is wrong?" His tone is insistent and worried, a complete departure from the tenor of our conversation up until now.

"I'm not sure…something…"

And then I see them. They are not at all what I expected, and I'm frozen in place for a moment, my mind frantically thrown into survival mode, racing to figure out my options and best plan of attack.

About 10 yards behind Peeta, circling in mid-air, are three tracker jackers. I recognize them instantly, their golden color and larger size a tell-tale indicator that these are the Capital mutts and not normal insects. I have no idea where they've come from, but it suddenly occurs to me that I have never been in the meadow at this time of day. As my mind scrambles to decide what to do, I push back the panic that surfaces from the idea that we may be able to escape three of these, but if there are more where they came from we are in serious danger.

As they start to fly closer to the blanket, I realize that Peeta is still looking at me, growing increasingly alarmed by my actions and what must be a look of panic on my face. But he still isn't aware of the impending threat. Just as that realization takes form, another one thrusts itself to the front of my thoughts as well. I have to protect him. Peeta hasn't had an episode in a long time, but the appearance of tracker jackers may be just enough to trigger one.

"Peeta, listen to me. I need you to slide off the blanket onto the grass, and hand me the canvas, very slowly."

I am looking between him and the tracker jackers, watching as they continue to weave their way in this direction.

"Katniss, tell me…"

"Peeta, now." I am not shouting, but my tone is exactly like the one that I used when Finnick and I discovered the monkeys in the arena just before they attacked. Peeta recognizes it instantly, and I see him tense as well. But he doesn't question me again. Instead, he begins to move to the side and reaches simultaneously for the canvas he had laid down, holding it out for me to grab.

I lower myself enough to be able to pull up the blanket as well. I don't have an exact plan in mind, but I vaguely imagine using the blanket to trap the two that are flying closer to each other, while swatting the third one with the rolled up canvas. It's a long-shot, but it's the best plan I can come up with right now. The hardest part is going to be getting Peeta to stay low and not try to help.

"Okay. Now, on the count of three, I need you to lay down in the grass. Whatever you do, do not try to help me. Everything is going to be fine, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Katniss, what is going on?" He starts to turn to look in their direction.

"NO! PEETA! Look at me, only at me. Please. I promise I will tell you everything in just a minute, but I don't have time to explain. Please, just trust me, alright? I know what I'm doing."

I can tell he is really struggling with this. I know he doesn't like the idea of me taking on some unidentified threat without him. But he is not fast enough to outrun them if they target him, and I can't risk him sliding into an episode out here in the middle of the forest. Thankfully, something about my tone seems to convince him. He nods, though the scowl on his face tells me he is clearly not happy about this.

I nod back to acknowledge him and stand up slowly, gathering the blanket in my right hand like a net, and gripping the canvas with my left. The only part of this plan I know for sure is that I have to keep myself between Peeta and the tracker jackers.

Very softly, I whisper, "One, two, three."

On three, I run toward the two that are closest together. Somehow I manage to get the blanket over them, just barely with the second one. I bring the blanket down swiftly, though, and manage to stomp the one just on the edge before stepping on the other one that is fully covered. I wheel around to locate the third one, and see that it is headed straight for me. I swat at it with the canvas, while ducking down and spinning around. I miss, of course, but manage to dodge its attack as well. Unfortunately, I've let it get between me and Peeta. I barrel toward it as it flies away from me, both of us heading straight for him. Peeta is sitting up in the grass now, and I bellow at him, "PEETA! Get down!"

He doesn't move, frozen at the sight of the tracker jacker flying in his direction. I push myself to accelerate just enough and bring the canvas crashing down on it just as we reach Peeta's feet, extended out in front him. I feel the canvas connect with the mutt, and forcibly crash both down to the ground, sending myself tumbling after them. I manage to swat it once more, to ensure it's actually dead, before rolling to the side and onto my back, breathing heavily from relief and the sudden exertion.

I lie still for a moment, then grow uneasy as I don't hear Peeta say anything. I sit up quickly, looking at him, and my heart catches in my throat. He hasn't moved from the position he was in when I toppled over while killing the third tracker jacker. But I can see the grass clenched in each fist, and the look on his face is one I haven't seen since he tackled me in the streets of the Capital.

"Peeta?" I scramble up and crawl toward him, allowing my concern and fear to make me reckless. It's just the opportunity he needs.

Before I know what's happening, he's on me. His hands grab both of my shoulders and I am shoved backwards, flat on the ground.

"You!" he snarls at me.

"Peeta, please!" I am frightened. He is fully ensnared in an episode right now, and has me pinned to the meadow floor.

"Thought you could lure me up here and take me out with those mutts, huh? Telling me to trust you while you shoo them in my direction? I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"No! Peeta! Listen to me! This is not real! Please! I am not a threat to you. This isn't you, Peeta!"

"Shut up! I won't listen to your lies any longer. You have been trying to kill me for two years. But I'll show you. Where's your little squad of soldiers now, Mockingjay? Whose gonna come to your rescue out here in the middle of nowhere?"

I'm crying now, struggling to break away, but his hands have moved down to my arms, and his legs have secured my own under him. I try to buck my head up but he's sitting too high and I can't reach him.

"Peeta! The bakery, our garden, Haymitch's geese, Mr. Landry's market…these are real, Peeta. Whatever you think you saw here, it's not real. I would never hurt you."

I see it then, just a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. I can see it's the real Peeta, my Peeta, buried deep inside, trying to regain control.

"Yes, Peeta, come back to me. Please! Help me!"

But that, apparently, is the wrong thing to say. My pleas infuriate this monster, and the hope I saw in his eyes is quickly extinguished as he growls at me in a quiet voice that is nothing short of terrifying.

"No. There is no one here to help you this time. This time, I will finish what I started."

He moves both his hands to my neck, and slowly begins squeezing, staring coldly into my eyes the whole time. Reflexively my hands fly to his, trying desperately to wrench them off and pull them away. My eyes grow bigger as it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe, my hands blindly striking out against his shoulders, arms, sides, any part of him I can reach, having no effect whatsoever.

I look into his eyes once more, silently begging them to let me see the man I trust, the man I depend on, the man who has made me feel safe once again. But as I lose consciousness, I can't find him.

* * *


	22. Broken

The scream rips from me, wrenching my heart in two, before I'm even aware of it.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

My hands recoil from her throat as if burned, and I hurl myself off of Katniss, who lies motionless in the grass.

"KATNISS!"

I move to her side, hands hesitating, unsure what to do. Her eyes are closed, she's not responding to me in any way. I shake her shoulders, frantically trying to wake her, but it does no good. I lean my head down to her chest, but I can't hear anything over my own sobbing. I hold my breath and lean my ear to her breast once more, giving up when I decide the heartbeat I'm hearing is more likely mine than hers, given how fast and erratic it sounds.

I lean closer to her ear, desperately trying to hold off the panic that threatens to consume me, and whisper as softly as I can, "Katniss, please, can you hear me? Please, please…just open your eyes. Please, Katniss. You can't…"

I wait, and wipe my tears off her cheek. She still doesn't move. As my fingers gingerly go to touch her neck, I grimace at the bruises already starting to form there. I shake my head violently, trying hard to focus. I press two fingers to her neck, and wait. The sobs start afresh full force when I feel the faintest trace of blood still pumping through her veins.

"Hang on, Katniss, please, just hang on."

I have to fight the urge to be sick as I scramble to pick up her lifeless form. Cradling her head on one arm and with my other under her knees, I grunt audibly with the strain of rising quickly to my feet and beginning the long trek back to town as fast as my feet will safely carry her, which is not nearly fast enough for my broken heart.

I whisper reassuring words to her the entire time, both to keep her here in this life, and to hold the engulfing guilt at bay until I can get her somewhere safe, somewhere to be cared for, somewhere away from the monster who did this to her…away from me.

* * *

The faraway nuisance of a sound is irksome. What fool is makin' such a ruckus at this hour? I try to ignore it, going back to my futile attempts at locating my other shoe. Walking to the train station in the morning will be infinitely less bothersome if I am not barefoot. Suddenly my brain processes what it's been hearing for the last few minutes.

It's the kid. He's yelling my name. No, he's screaming it. And he's getting closer.

Without hesitating, I yank the front door open as I tumble down the steps, rapidly searching my surroundings for any sign of him. I know that tone, that fevered pitch, and like a programmed response my heart races as my mind clears to deal with the impending danger.

He's coming up the street, from town, and he's carrying the girl. I move to intercept them as if I were his age again.

"What happened?"

"I…she's…take her!"

He practically throws her into my arms. Although heavier than the last time I carried her like this, something about her listless form this time sinks my stomach. The boy is bent over, trying to catch his breath.

I look her over, but don't see any blood.

"Katniss!" I'm practically yelling in her ear, but she doesn't even moan. I start to move toward the kid's house, but he grabs my shoulder.

"No! Her house. Not mine."

"What? Why?"

All he does is shake his head at me. I don't have time to argue about it, so I turn the other way and head to her house. I'm struggling to keep my balance, but make my way up to her porch when I notice the kid is still standing in the street.

"Get up here! Open the door!"

The way he hesitates all but confirms my suspicions. "Now, Peeta!"

As he forces himself to move, I risk a glance down at her face. But I don't quite make it. The purple and blue marks on her neck capture my eye, and I start putting pieces I don't want to see together. I manage to get her to the sofa and lay her down.

As soon as my arms are free, I'm on him, pinning him up against the wall with one arm on his neck while I grab his wrist in my other hand.

"What the _hell_ happened?! What did you do?!" Even I'm startled by my anger right now, but I can't stop myself from growling at him.

He's not even trying to resist me, or to answer. Tears are streaming down his face, and he looks like a seventeen-year-old kid who just single-handedly unloaded a thousand 100-lb sacks of flour off the latest train. But the lost, pained look in his eyes as he meets mine makes me release him almost as quickly as I pinned him. He seems almost incapable of speech.

"Sorry. Tell me what happened."

He looks at her, pulling his hands through his hair. In between gulps for air, he manages to get a few words out. "We were in the forest. I had an episode. I…I don't remember, exactly, but when I came out of it…." He starts to break down again, clearly seeing what he saw then replay in his head.

"You strangled her?" The unspoken _again_ hangs there in between us.

He nods, looks at her once more, and then takes off out the front door. I don't try to stop him or call him back.

I move back to the girl, kneel down beside her, and hover my cheek just over her mouth. The sigh of relief I let out as I feel just a hint of breath escape her open lips is the only thing that eases the iron grip on my heart.

I gently pick her up, cradling her as best I can, and take her upstairs, laying her out on the bed. I pull the blanket up over her, brush a stray piece of hair out of her still-closed eyes, sit on the edge of the bed just staring at her, and wait for her to wake-up.

* * *

"Hi, Princess."

"Haymitch! Aren't you supposed to be on a train right now?"

"Yeah, 'bout that. I need you to tell Paylor I can't come yet."

Silence. She really hates it when I do this.

"Haymitch, you cannot simply disregard a personal invitation from the President."

I'm pretty sure I just have, and that I could do whatever I damn feel like doin' these days, but I decide to play nice. "Yea, well, now's not a good time. Tell her she'll just have to use that autographed picture of me for another week or two instead."

"Haymitch!" Her gasp is almost enough to make me laugh out loud. Almost.

"Look, Eff, this is important. I need you to make excuses for me, but not anything that will raise suspicions. Can you do that, princess?"

She clucks her tongue in that way that she does, but then pauses. She must be processing the tone of my words now. "Is everything alright? What's happened?"

Effie Trinket may be a lotta things, but she's definitely sharper than most folks give her credit for. Most folks. Not me. At least not anymore.

"Nothin' I can't handle, okay? But, I gotta handle it. That means I can't leave just now." I grow more tired just saying this to her.

She sighs. "Oh, alright, Haymitch. But I expect to be handsomely rewarded for my troubles."

I smirk to myself, though I know she can still tell even though she can't see me. "Whatever you say, princess. Thanks."

"Oh, and Haymitch?" Her tone is different now.

"Yea, doll?"

"Be careful. I'm not sure what's going on, but I can tell something is not quite right."

"Whatdya mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, really. Probably just my imagination, you know, after…everything. But people here just seem a little, how can I say it? Tense?"

Interesting. I file this away for later. "Got it. Well, thanks for the heads up."

"Of course. After all, District 12 is still a pearl of a district to me!"

And then again… "Right, Eff. Thanks."

"Ta ta!"

I hang up the phone and head to the kitchen. I'd give anything for a bottle of white liquor right about now, but the girl still hasn't moved a muscle. I can't leave – I need to be here when she wakes up. So I settle for coffee.

Back upstairs, I grab her wrist softly, just to make sure it's still warm. It's late morning now, and though I dozed off in a chair I finally dragged next to her bed, I haven't had much sleep. Not that that's all that unusual, but apparently not sleeping all night in my own house is more relaxing than not sleeping while keeping watch over her all night in hers.

I wonder if I should check on the kid. He was a mess last night. But something tells me he needs some time to get himself back together. Besides, I'm still trying to sort out what I would even say at this point. Until I can talk to her, find out what her side of the story is, I'm not sure what I'd tell him. I half expected to find a bakery's worth of breads and such in the kitchen this morning, but I s'pose he's not even ready for that level of self-therapy yet.

Watchin' her lie here, the grotesque shadow of his hands imprinted visibly on her neck, just makes my anger at the Capitol and everything they ever did to any of us rise up like bile in my throat all over again. Even after all we've been through, after everything we accomplished, these poor kids can't escape from it. Just as I'll never escape from it. It pisses me off. And makes me feel useless all over again.

I sit up a bit when I see she's movin', legs and arms startin' to twist and turn in the bed. Her face winces involuntarily as her head jerks to one side. As her eyes fly open, she sits up suddenly and a scream erupts from her mouth. I put the coffee on the floor and take her in my arms slowly, not wanting to alarm her.

"Shhh, shhh, it's alright, sweetheart. It's over. You're home."

She fights me at first, but then wraps her arms around me, reassuring herself that she's not in danger anymore. As she pulls back, though, her hands go to her neck and she winces again, the pain dawning on her fully now. I gently pull her hands away.

"No, don't. You're gonna be hurtin' there for a while. Now's you're awake, you can take some pain pills."

She tries to speak, but her voice won't work right. I get up and retrieve a glass of water from the bathroom, which she sips gingerly, cringing when she swallows.

She looks at me with pleading eyes, croaking out the only word she can muster right now. "Peeta?"

"He brought you back last night. Carried you back from the forest, apparently."

She looks at me, and I know what she's askin' without her words.

"He's pretty upset. He left last night, and I haven't seen him since."

She looks out the window, just staring at nothin' in particular. I can see the tears startin' to form in the corners of her eyes.

"Why don't you get changed, and I'll make you some tea for your throat?" I pat her leg, trying to be reassuring, but it's awkward. She and I do better with insults and jabs, not comfort and coddlin'.

I leave and head back to the kitchen, puttin' some water on to boil and rummaging through cabinets and drawers for tea. Just as I'm addin' some honey I found to her cup, she shows up, hair still a mess, face strained, but in different clothes at least. I hand her the tea wordlessly, and she takes a seat at the table.

I sit across from her, just watchin', waitin' for her to answer my unasked questions. When she starts, her voice is raspy and quiet, but warms and smooths out as she goes on.

"I took him on a picnic, in a meadow in the forest. Everything was fine, until three tracker jackers showed up. I tried to keep him from seeing them, managed to kill two with the blanket. But the third, I wasn't fast enough. It flew right at him before I could catch it and bring it down."

She takes another long sip from her tea.

"Did it sting him? You?"

She shakes her head. "No, I got it before it could get to him. But it triggered an episode. He…when I looked up, he…" She's struggling to get the words out, and I wait, silently encouraging her to continue.

"I was so stupid, Haymitch! I saw the look on his face, and I should have just run, but I wasn't thinking. All I wanted to do was help him. I'm such an idiot!"

I lower my head. Sometimes, even I am amazed at how much these two love each other. And I wonder if it'll still be the death of both of 'em, in spite of everything.

"What happened, sweetheart?"

She recollects herself, and I watch her draw on that well of inner strength that came so close to drying up a while back but seems to have replenished itself. She is a true fighter. I respect that, more than I'll ever tell her, I know.

"He tackled me, pinned me to the ground. He started saying how I tricked him up there so I could use the tracker jackers to kill him. But it wasn't him, Haymitch! It wasn't! At one point, I saw him, in his eyes, he was trying to get back to me, I know it. But he couldn't. And then…he just…he started…"

Her hand moves back to her neck again, and she starts crying, silent sobs shaking her shoulders as she sits in front of me. I wait for her to calm down again, not sure what to do.

"Katniss?" I say softly. "Katniss, look at me."

She looks up, wiping her nose on her sleeve, begging me with her eyes to understand.

I speak softly, tryin' my damnedest to give her something she needs. "He must have snapped himself out of it, sweetheart. Otherwise…"

I don't finish the thought, as she's well aware of what could have happened. She swallows her next sob as she thinks about this, and nods just a bit.

We're quiet for a few minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts. She seems to be well enough, and it's been a helluva long night without a drink, so I decide it's time to head home again. But just as I'm about to get up, she speaks up again.

"He must hate me now. I have to see him. I have to apologize."

 _What in the…? Did I hear that right?_ "Come again, sweetheart? You feelin' okay?"

And now this girl is lookin' at me with a face that says 'how could you not get this?' It's like lookin' in a damn mirror, and my sympathy level drops about ten feet.

"He must – if I hadn't taken him to that meadow, if I'd just killed that last jacker faster, if I'd thought about what I was doing before reaching out to him, none of this would have happened. It's my fault. I have to apologize to him."

"That may be the stupidest shit I've ever heard come outta your mouth. And I've heard a helluva lot of stupid things come outta you, girl."

Now she's mad. "You wouldn't understand," she spits at me, as she gets up, tossing her teacup in the sink.

"Oh, wouldn't I? Well, news flash, little lady, but I'm actually pretty damn good at figurin' stuff out. In fact, I'd say in that particular race, I've been runnin' circles 'round you since we first met. So sit your ass down and listen!"

Maybe I'm tired, I'm definitely too sober, and the concern I had for her minutes ago is evaporating rapidly. But this girl needs to hear some sense. She glares at me, and I kick one of the chairs out from under the table, nodding my head at it for her to sit down. She crosses her arms, puts on that pouty face I am _way_ too familiar with, and sits.

"Now you listen to me. This ain't your fault." She immediately starts to protest, but I put up my hand to stop her before she can start. "Yea, yea, I heard all that crap you just spewed about everything you think you did or didn't do. But that's exactly what it is – crap. Ain't nobody helped by you tryin' to blame yourself for somethin' that you didn't do. You gotta enough real mistakes to own, don't go takin' on somebody else's."

"This is not his fault, Haymitch! He couldn't control himself!"

I shake my head again. "I ain't sayin' it's his fault, neither. Calm down. It happened. Not your fault, probably not his. It just is. You can blame the Capitol if you want – I do. But that don't really help nothin', neither."

She's still glaring at me, clearly not convinced. Reminds me so much of her dad, the two of 'em more stubborn than any mule I ever saw. So, I decide to take another approach to make her see how dumb her apologizing really is.

"Look. You can't go and apologize to that boy when he's sittin' there thinkin' he damn near killed you. Which he did, truth be told. He won't have it, and you know it."

Finally, I see her begin to follow my meanin'. "But I don't want him blaming himself, Haymitch. This wasn't his fault."

I sigh, 'cause as much as I want to agree with her, a part of me I don't like to acknowledge is more protective of her than I ever thought I'd let myself be of anyone after Maysilee. So, yeah, part of me does blame the kid. But I also know she's right. And I know he blames himself, too. And I also know that as much as I want to go home, drain a bottle or two and pass out for a couple of days, I'm gonna have to go talk to the boy. She's gonna insist one of us go, and it can't very well be her. At least not yet.

"Fine, I'll go."

She looks at me funny. "What?"

"I'm just skipping the next ten minutes of this conversation and gettin' to the end so I can get this over with faster and get back to mindin' my own business. I'll go talk to the kid."

She snickers now, which is almost enough to make me take it back. But then she catches herself and her expression changes. "You weren't supposed to be here."

"Nice of you to notice, sweetheart."

"But, what about Paylor? Are you gonna be in trouble?"

"I took care of it. She can wait."

"Are you sure? What's it about, really?" The concern in her voice is evident, and my frustration with her subsides, as it always does.

"Don't really know, actually. I suppose if it's really something important, I'll hear about it soon enough."

She reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. "Thank you, Haymitch." And she smiles.

I can't resist. "Don't mention it. After all, just doin' my job. _Somebody's_ gotta keep you two outta trouble."

She pushes me away, but not hard. I get up, resigned to my fate to continue this never ending morning. I head toward the front door, and decide it's time to get things back to normal between us.

"Oh, and sweetheart?"

"Yea?"

"Next time you decide to take baker boy on a picnic in the woods, pack the damn fly swatter, will ya?"

I walk out the door without waitin' to hear her response.

* * *

I call out as I walk through the door. "Hey, kid, you in here?"

"Back here."

I walk back to the kitchen, and he's sittin' at the table, hands clasped in front him. It's unnerving, a bit. This one usually deals with stress by doin' stuff – baking, cleaning, painting, whatever. Just sittin' here doin' nothin' tells me I gotta bigger problem than I thought.

"How is she?" He doesn't look at me as he talks, just stares at his hands.

"She'll be fine. She's up, talkin', a little sore maybe, but okay." I straddle the chair next to him, sizin' him up.

"Good. Thank you for taking care of her."

"Yeah, well, didn't leave me much choice last night, did ya now?" I'm not really tryin' to rile him up – kid's obviously been through a rough night himself. He looks like he hasn't slept. And from the red streaks on his hands and knuckles, I'm willin' to bet there's either a mess upstairs or he spent a lotta time cleanin' up already.

"So, she told me what happened."

When he doesn't say anything, I know there's a problem.

"Look, kid, she's not mad at you. Just the opposite, in fact. She's more worried about you than herself."

"I'll be fine."

"Oh yeah? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, you're not exactly convincin' _me_ of that."

He looks at me, then goes back to staring at his hands.

"You should get back to her."

"Sorry, kid, but that girl's already shot one arrow at me. I ain't lookin' to give her more target practice just yet."

"What do you want, Haymitch?"

I consider him, and the question. Truth be told, other than a good, stiff drink, I don't really know what I want right now.

"Don't really matter much what I want, kid. What is it _you_ want?"

He doesn't look up, he doesn't move, for a long time. I have to lean in a bit to finally hear his answer. "Something I can't have."

"Oh? And what's that?"

But he doesn't answer me. We sit for about five minutes, not talking, not even looking at each other. My eyelids start fallin' I'm so exhausted. So I decide to speed up the process.

"She wants to apologize to you, ya know. Thinks all this was her fault."

He grips his hands knuckle-white, red splotches showin' up on his cheeks, jaw line and down his neck. His eyes narrow. I have got to remember to play poker with this kid the next time I'm bored.

"You should go now."

I shake my head. Not like him to pull this stubborn streak business. He's the talker, after all.

"Look, Peeta, it happened. She's okay. She's gonna be okay. You gotta move on."

Finally he looks at me, but it's not at all reassuring. "I know."

And he gets up and goes upstairs. I can take a hint, but as I walk outta his house and back to mine, I am troubled by the fact that I seem to have underestimated the kid's reaction to this. Before, I'd always been able to count on him to think things through, listen to reason, eventually understand and make the right choice. But somethin' about our exchange tells me he ain't thinkin' straight this time. As much as I was angry at him last night, protective of her, I'm startin' to feel like he's the one who suffered more than she did. She'll be fine. I'm hopin' I can say that about him, too, after a day or two.

I walk through the wide-open door and make my way straight to the cabinet in the kitchen. After swallowin' half a bottle, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and collapse on the sofa in the living room. I just wanna shut my eyes for a few minutes. I take a couple more long sips from the bottle before I feel myself start to nod off. Instinctively I grab the knife from under the cushion and hold it next to my side. I know I don't need it now, that sleeping in my house after the war is safe enough. But after everything that's just transpired, I need its familiar comfort to help me face the nightmares I know are waiting for me.

* * *

My head is pounding. Without opening my eyes, I rub my forehead and temples trying to quiet the incessant banging. It's only when I hear the girl's shouts that I open my eyes. I'm on my feet in an instant, knife swinging, but she's not here. I listen carefully, quickly assimilating the information my brain is gathering.

It's late in the day, evening. I'm alone. The girl is shouting, and apparently also the source of the pounding I hear. Well, there's some good news at least. I walk toward the front door and open it, dropping the knife on the table as I go. Her tone, though familiar as well, doesn't compel me to move with the same speed and agility as last night. She's not panicked. No, she's just pissed again.

Standing on my front porch, it doesn't take long to figure out what's happening. The girl is banging determinedly on the kid's front door, which apparently he's locked or even barricaded. Or maybe he's not even home – which would be the smart move given how angry she is right now. I ramble down the steps, amusing myself watching her for a couple of minutes. To hear her yell now, you'd never know her windpipe was almost crushed last night.

"I see you've found your voice again, sweetheart."

She whirls around, hair flyin' every which way, and the look she gives me actually makes me think twice about having left that knife inside the house. She practically leaps down the steps, crossing his lawn and the street with such fury that I unconsciously back up a few paces as she gets closer. I haven't seen her this mad since she went after the kid after the first interview.

"Woah, woah! Calm down, already. I'm not the enemy here!"

She's holding out a piece of paper, thrusting it at me as if she's accusing me with it. "What did you say to him, Haymitch?! What did you do?!"

Now my head really is pounding on its own. "Settle down. What are you talkin' about?"

"This! He left this for me on my kitchen table. He didn't even….look at this! What the hell did you say to him?!"

She shoves the offending piece of paper in my face again, and I take it, as well as a step back. The light's too dim now for me to read it, so I head back up to my porch, flicking the switch inside the door to turn on the porch light.

_Dear Katniss,_

_I can't tell you how relieved I was to hear that you are alright, that you will recover. I would never forgive myself if that had not been the case._

_Which is why I am writing this to you now. These last few months have been incredible. Being with you, I have known more happiness, more joy, than I ever thought possible after everything we went through, after everything I lost. I've grown so accustomed to spending my days with you, sharing our time together, holding you, being with you, just growing closer to you with each passing day. You mean more to me than I can tell you._

_That is why I cannot risk something like last night happening again. I would never forgive myself if I were to injure you, or worse. Your happiness, your survival, is more important to me than anything. After last night, it's clear to me that I am too much of a danger to you. I have to know that you are safe, especially from me._

_So, I'm leaving. I know you will not agree with this decision, I know you think that somehow you are to blame for the horrible things I did to you last night. That could not be farther from the truth. I am the monster. You are beautiful, and strong, and kind, and amazing, and I will do whatever it takes to protect you, no matter what the cost to me._

_Please do not try to see me. You cannot talk me out of this. I will never forget you. I will always love you. But I simply cannot stay here knowing that I may be your greatest threat._

_All my love,  
Peeta_

I look up, and she's standing there, silent tears pouring down her face, a look of fright and sadness deep in her eyes. Her lip trembles, and she's pleading with me to fix this, to make everything alright.

"Aw, sweetheart…" I say as I take a step toward her. But she doesn't give me a chance to say or do anything more before she's launching herself into my arms, clinging to me, sobbing into my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her, just letting her cry, not sure what to say.

As I stand there in the gathering darkness, I catch the flutter of a curtain falling in the window across the way. Damn that kid.

* * *


	23. Safety

Two more days. I only have to survive two more days here, and then I can catch the train. So far she's tried to talk to me four times, sometimes angry, sometimes sad, always frustrated. It's when I hear her crying, the tears choking her voice, that I come closest to losing my resolve and opening the door, wrapping her in my arms and stroking her hair. But I can't comfort her. I can't reassure her it's going to be alright. The sooner she learns to exist without me, the better off she'll be.

I, on the other hand, know I'll never be okay. I will never be happy. But that is the price I am willing to pay to ensure her safety, her survival. I still can't sleep without images of my hands squeezing the life out of her plaguing me. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't talk to anyone – though a more comfortable cell to be sure, I feel imprisoned all over again. The problem this time is that I'm both the jailer and the prisoner. I just hope I can keep myself caged long enough to get to the train on Friday.

I haven't told Thom I'm leaving. I want them to finish the bakery. I'm sure Sae or Thom will be able to find someone to run it after I've gone. When Thom came by this morning to see if I was okay, I only talked to him through the door, telling him I was ill and would probably not be at work this week. I plan to leave a letter for him before I leave, with enough money to finish whatever work remains so the bakery will be fully functional before winter. I owe him, and the people of 12, at least this much.

I have enough supplies here at home to be able to hold out until my departure, so I don't have to go to the market. I snuck out in the middle of the night last night, after I watched Haymitch take Katniss inside his house and was certain I could make it to the garden and back undetected. With the vegetables I have there, and the baking supplies on hand, I won't starve.

Standing here, in the doorway of what up until 48 hours ago was my art room, I look for salvageable materials with which to create my final gift to her. It's a challenge, though, given the condition of the room. When I first came home that horrible night, I had been so upset, so angry with myself, I didn't know what to do. After smashing a few dishes and one lamp, I had made my way up here. This room, where so many of my false memories still lingered. Where so many lying images still took up residence. I had gone crazy in my determination to banish them all.

Shredding sketches, throwing paint cans, snapping brushes, ripping canvases. The rage I had felt while destroying these remnants of the tracker jacker venom that still lingered in my brain had been unnerving. But at least I had managed to work out the aggression I knew was really directed at myself, or I suppose most of it. Afterward it had felt like hours had passed, but more likely it was only a matter of minutes. It was impressive – the amount of damage I could do in that time. Another reminder of just how lethal I can be. I had just crumpled onto the floor, leaning up against the wall, weeping for everything I had almost lost that night, berating myself for having gotten so carried away, so careless, that I endangered her. I despised myself.

Slowly through the early morning hours as I awaited word that she was alright, I had found my resolve. I had wrestled with my options, and drawn the only possible conclusion. I knew leaving would mean wrenching my heart out and leaving it here, with her. But I also knew I had no choice. Her survival and safety have always been, and always will be, my priority.

I manage to retrieve some colored pencils and a blank sheet of drawing paper from the rubble of the room. I give one last look at the paintings and drawings I didn't destroy – the ones that I know are real. Maybe, after I'm gone, she'll keep some. Or maybe she'll just burn the whole lot out of anger at me. I won't blame her.

I head back downstairs to the kitchen table and start to work. Even now, I still have to force down the tears that threaten to spill on the paper in front of me. But I push aside the terrible memory of my unforgivable act and focus instead on the time we had together in the meadow before that. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. The colors were spectacular – so vibrant and full, I know I won't be able to capture all of them with my meager tools. But I set to work anyway, determined to leave her one last reminder of the good times we had found.

I'm so engrossed in what I'm doing that I startle when I realize I am no longer alone.

"I want to be alone."

"I didn't ask."

"How did you get in here?"

"What? I'm a victor, a mastermind of rebellion and a mentor to two of the most difficult teenagers in all of Panem. You don't think I can get myself into a locked house when I want to?"

He moves over to the cabinet and retrieves two glasses, then sits down at the table with me, pulling a bottle of brown liquor out of his pocket. Either he's trying to impress me by using the good stuff instead of his usual swill, or the last couple of days have rendered his typical white liquor less than effective at numbing his senses to his satisfaction. I'm willing to bet it's the latter. He fills each glass about halfway, hands one to me, and downs his in one gulp. I put mine down without drinking a drop.

"So, you hit a bump in the road and you're just takin' off, huh?"

"You know that's not it."

"Enlighten me, then."

I don't meet his gaze. I've been expecting this visit, but that doesn't mean I feel prepared or eager to go verbal rounds with Haymitch over this.

"You know I can't stay. She's not safe with me."

"You don't really believe that."

"What more proof do you need, Haymitch? I nearly killed her. She could have died. And there was no one there to stop me. I can't take that chance again. If there's a next time she might not be so lucky."

I reach for the glass now, managing to get about half of what he poured down before I cough and sputter and have to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He's staring at me, but I can't read the look on his face. He pours himself another drink and sets the bottle in between us where either of us can reach it if we're so inclined.

"But she didn't."

"She could have," I mutter.

"But she didn't."

"Stop saying that."

"Alright. You didn't."

"I did! I did that to her! My hands, Haymitch! Mine – nobody else's!" I push up and out of my chair and start pacing back and forth, one hand raking through my hair, one clenching in a fist. "How can I be with her when I can't be sure if being alone with me might be fatal for her? And if I can't be with her, then I can't be here. This is hard enough. Please, don't make it any harder. Besides, I saw how angry you were at me the other night. And rightfully so. She needs you – even at your worst, _your_ only instinct is to protect her."

"You didn't kill her."

Has he been listening to anything I'm saying? "What?"

"Look at me, kid. Listen to me. You. Did. Not. Kill. Her."

"So?"

"So? You may have been the one who started this, but you were also the one who stopped it."

I shake my head dismissively.

"No! You do not get to just ignore that part of it. So you had an episode. Big deal. The important thing is that you stopped yourself. Not that you started. But that you stopped."

I look at him as if he's lost his mind. He can't possibly think this is going to persuade me. The thought that I just barely managed to stop choking the woman I love to death before she actually died is not sufficient cause for me to continue to jeopardize her life.

"Haymitch, you're nuts. So I managed to stop it this time. I almost didn't. That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

He takes another long drink, staring at the middle of the table. "Yeah, I figured as much. That's what I told her."

I mask the hurt that statement inflicts by grabbing my glass and trying to down what remains.

"How can you drink this stuff?" I cough at him as I try to swallow the rancid liquid.

"You leave here on Friday's train and I guarantee you'll be able to put it away like the rest of us within a year." He's looking at me now, and his tone is full of sorrow instead of sarcasm.

"I can't stay. She deserves not to be afraid. I owe her that."

This seems to set him off. "What you owe her is to not leave her! You're takin' the easy way out, kid. And what the hell do you think that's gonna do to her? You remember what she was like before you came back? You honestly think she's better off like that than havin' to be a little more careful with you sometimes? 'Cause that is exactly what she'll be like if you get on that train."

I'm struck by his outburst. I expected all kinds of tactics, but to have him insinuate that my leaving may send her back into a catatonic state is low, even for him.

"Stop it, Haymitch."

He laughs mirthlessly. "Can't take the truth, huh? Feels better when you see this as some noble sacrifice on your part, does it? Well, that's crap, and you know it. You're scared. Fine. And guilty. Okay. But let's at least be honest about the fact that you hidin' in here, not talkin' to her, runnin' away, is all about makin' you feel better. Don't think for a second that this is what she wants or needs. She's not afraid of bein' with you, she's afraid of _not_ bein' with you. This is the most selfish thing I've ever seen you do, kid."

"Leave. Now."

He gets up, grabbing the bottle from the table. "Fine. I'll go. But you think about what I said. This ain't about what's best for her anymore. This is about what's easier for you. And that's just not who you really are."

And he walks out. I want to be angry, or sad, or relieved, or anything. But all I am is empty. No longer feeling inspired to work on the drawing I had started, I make my way to the bedroom, lying with my eyes open, just staring into nothing as I drift away.

* * *

One more day. That's all I have to get through. The train comes tomorrow morning. I just need to keep it together for about 18 more hours and then I can do what has to be done and get myself away from here, away from her.

She has stopped coming over to the house. I try to tell myself that it's better this way. That the sooner she starts letting me go the better off she'll be. I don't think it's really working though. At least when she was banging on my door I knew she was okay. Now I wonder if she's started hating me already.

I've used up just about all of the food in the house. It's early afternoon, and I'm debating whether or not to make a run to the garden. I haven't seen any sign of her or Haymitch all day, but can't wait until it's dark, as I'm pretty hungry already.

I go out the back door and around the side of the house to the garden. It's kind of a gray day, matching my mood actually. Cloudy, but not really raining. There are a couple of tomatoes, some carrots, even a head of lettuce. I can definitely make a salad. I quickly scan the garden for any other obvious pickings, but not seeing any turn to head back inside. She's standing between me and the door.

We just look at each other, not speaking. She's got that guarded, defensive look to her that I spent so long trying to break through. Years, really.

"Katniss, I…"

"I'm sorry."

Didn't see that coming. "What?"

"I'm sorry. For taking you to the meadow. For letting this happen. I know you hate me, but I wanted you to know."

"I don't hate you. And you have nothing to be sorry for."

"You're lying. You must hate me. Otherwise, you wouldn't be doing this."

I sigh. I am struggling inside, fighting the urge to just hold her and never let her go, right along with my desire to run from her, lock the door and never see her again. The shadows of my fingers wrapped around her throat are still visible, and I cringe when I see them. This woman will be the death of me, one way or the other.

"Katniss, you know why I'm doing this. You know I care about you too much to put you in danger."

She raises an eyebrow at me, that skeptical, challenging, piercing look she has when she so clearly does not agree with whatever she's being told.

"If you care about me so much, then stay." It's barely audible, and my heart breaks anew as I recognize the plea hidden behind the challenge.

I lower my head, unable to look at her any longer. "I can't risk harming you. You'll be safer if I leave."

She doesn't respond, and when I look up at her again, I can see the hurt has been replaced by anger.  
"I trusted you. I believed you. But you're just like everyone else."

She walks off, and I watch her all the way to her house, wincing as the door slams shut behind her. I just make it back to the kitchen before the tears start falling onto my hands. I slump down against the wall and don't even try to fight the onslaught of emotions as I crumble.

* * *

I finish stuffing a few shirts into my bag and pull the zipper closed. It's odd how I don't feel like there's much here I want or need to take with me. I don't have definite plans yet, maybe try to find Johanna – it's been far too long since I've heard from her. Won't be surprised if I end up in the Capitol at some point – I'm sure Dr. Aurelius would love to see me. But I'm planning on heading to District 4 first. I'd like to see Annie, who should have had the baby by now. And I've never seen the ocean. I'm hopeful that might be a good distraction to start with.

I still have about an hour before the train is due. After Katniss left last night, I wallowed in self-pity for a few hours. Then I forced myself to finish the drawing of the two of us in the meadow that I had begun. I know she probably won't want it now. But I decided to leave it here, just in case. I signed the back, and it's lying on the kitchen table should she ever decide to set foot in this house again.

Along with it is the letter I left for Thom, with what I hope is sufficient money to complete the bakery. I offered a few suggestions for people he may want to approach about running the bakery in my place. I also left Sae a note with money as well, asking her to please watch over Katniss again and try to make sure she eats regularly and keeps hunting. I'm hopeful that knowing how much Sae and others are depending on her hunting skills to survive this winter will help her stay grounded and not slip back into the depression that gripped her before. Finally, I left a note with a few weeks payment for Annaliese – I'm hoping that Haymitch will man up and start paying her himself after I'm gone. After all, she needs the money and she does a good job of keeping his place in decent shape. But just in case it takes her a little while to convince him, I wanted to be sure she has something to tide her over.

I'm making myself a glass of water when the phone rings. It's about nine now, and I have no idea who would be calling me. I'm also not particularly in the mood to talk to anyone right now, so I make no move to answer it, and after about ten rings it finally stops. I finish my water and am washing the glass when the ringing begins again. Irritation mingled with just a touch of curiosity at who would be this persistent moves me toward the phone in the hallway. I push the possibility of it being Katniss far out of mind – she hates both the phone and me at this point, so there's no way she's calling.

"He-"

"PEETA! I called her house but no answer. Where's Katniss?!" Despite his frantic, urgent tone I would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Gale, I don't know-"

"What?! She's not there? Shit!" Someone is yelling in the background. In fact there's so much noise it's hard to hear him, even though he sounds as if he's shouting into the phone.

"Gale, what is going-"

"Listen to me. No time to explain. Katniss is in danger. You have to find her, now. Keep her with you. Don't let anything happen to her. I'll be there in one hour. Got that?"

"What? What do you mean-"

"I can't say anymore. We're leaving now. I'm counting on you. Keep her safe!"

The line goes dead and I stare at the receiver in my hand.

* * *


	24. Visitors

Twenty-some years I managed to live here in virtual isolation – quiet, peaceful, hardly anybody ever bothered me. In the last three days seems like I can't go more than two hours without somebody bangin' on my door or screamin' my name. _I'm gettin' too old for this shit_ , I think to myself as the kid comes barrelin' through my front door.

"Haymitch! Something's wrong."

"Ya think? Glad to hear you finally came to your senses, kid."

"No! That's not what I'm talking about. Where's Katniss?"

"How the hell should I know? I figured she'd be yellin' at you right about now, tryin' to …"

"HAYMITCH! Listen to me. I need your help. Katniss is in danger."

_Not this again,_ I groan inwardly. Only he doesn't look like he's about to start an episode.

"You seem fine to me."

"No, no – not from me! Gale called again. He said Katniss is in danger, to find her and keep her safe. Haymitch, he said he would be here in one hour."

I may not know much, but even I know that for anyone to get to District 12 in one hour can only mean one thing – hovercraft. Gale Hawthorne is coming by hovercraft after warning the kid to keep our Mockingjay safe. The kid literally spins in a circle as he tries to keep up with watching me get up, grab a couple of knives and head out the door. I shove one knife in the back of my pants, and the other in the holster I always wear on my calf. Old habits die hard.

"Did you check her house?"

"No – he said he called there but she didn't answer."

"She never answers."

We head to her house, but I'm pretty sure we won't find her there. We do a cursory look just in case, but don't waste much time before heading back out to the road.

"Haymitch, what do you think this is about? How could she be in danger?"

"I don't know, kid. But if they are sendin' a hovercraft here for her protection, they must think it's a pretty serious threat. Any idea where she could be?"

"No. We argued yesterday afternoon. I haven't seen her since."

I glance at him upon hearing this tidbit, but we don't have time to discuss it right now. It's late morning, she's angry and hurt, and could be damn near anywhere. I'm no tracker, and the boy doesn't seem to have any clue about her whereabouts. I can't shake the feeling that time is not on our side.

We head into town, scanning in all directions for any sign of her. We split up to cover the square and surrounding shops faster, not that we expect to really find her here. But maybe somebody has seen her. Peeta heads off toward his new bakery, I go in the direction of the market. Nigel Landry is out sweepin' his stoop. I call over to him as I continue to look around.

"Nigel! You seen Katniss Everdeen today?"

He looks up at me, surprise registering on his face. "Haymitch! Why, no, I haven't seen Miss Katniss. Is anything wrong?"

_Yes_ , but seeing as how I have no idea what, I don't really feel like wadin' into that quagmire. "Just tell her I'm lookin' for her if you see her, will ya?"

He smiles, all friendly and happy, "Of course, of course. Anything to help."

Satisfied she's nowhere around here, I double back to meet up with the boy again.

"No one's seen her, Haymitch. The guys on my crew said they started work a few hours ago, and haven't seen her. Do you think she went hunting?"

"Most likely. We'll never find her out there. She could be anywhere."

I stop, willing myself to think like her and figure out where she could be. "What else did Gale say?" I need to know everything.

"Um, not much. Said he couldn't really explain, that they were leaving, and that he'd be here in an hour. Said to keep her with me, and to keep her safe. Then he hung up. Haymitch, what could possibly be happening that she could be in danger so quickly?"

I'm not sure what's happening, but my gut tells me this isn't as quickly as it might appear. "I dunno, kid. But we best keep lookin' if we're gonna have any hope of findin' her before Hawthorne gets here. Let's at least head to the woods and see if there's any sign of her. It's gettin' late enough she may be headed back."

I turn to move toward the meadow at the far end of the Seam, but the kid starts walkin' off in the other direction. "Kid, it's this way."

He looks at me, confused. "But that's not where…the other night, we were in the woods over by the market."

Oh hell. Now she really could be anywhere. "Her pa used to hunt in these woods, and this is where I found her that night you came back. You tellin' me she's huntin' in other woods, too?"

I watch the kid's face morph from confusion to almost panic. "Haymitch, we can't search _all_ the woods of District 12! How are we going to find her?!"

My head hurts, I realize as my hand reflexively rubs my forehead, trying to ease the rapidly building tension. "Ok. You head to the woods you went to with her, I'll head to the ones I found her in. Don't go searchin' in 'em, just poke around a bit, or see if she's on her way out. I'll meet you back in the square in 10 minutes."

The kid turns to head off. "Hey! Peeta!"

He turns around again and I toss him the knife from my back. "Take this." I don't know what's headed our way, and if the girl's hunting, at least I know she'll be armed. I don't want him out with her unarmed.

As I turn back toward the meadow, in the distance I hear the train whistle as it's approaching the station. I glance back at the boy, but he's so focused on finding her I don't think he really hears it. Never thought I'd see the day when I'd be grateful for interference from Hazelle's kid, but I can't say I'm not. If he hadn't called, this boy might well have been on his way to the train instead of stayin' right here, where he's needed most.

I quicken my pace to get to the meadow, not holdin' out much hope that I'm actually gonna find her. Nothin' about this mornin' sits well with me, and I can't shake the feelin' of bein' set-up for another arena – knowing there's a threat, but not havin' a clue as to what it may be. For the billionth time in my life I'm cursin' the Capitol under my breath for wreakin' havoc with our daily lives.

The meadow is, as expected, empty. I walk over to the now sizable hole in the fence that Thom and I used that night, but see no sign of Katniss or anyone, for that matter. I walk along the fence several yards in each direction, peerin' into the forest for any indication that she might be comin' back. I even head through the fence and creep just a few yards into the trees, but I'm mindful of the minutes tickin' away, and find myself hopin' that the kid's had better luck.

Reluctantly, I head back up through the Seam this time, takin' a bit of a longer path back to the square, but wantin' to search somewhere we haven't been to feel more useful and productive. I hate this feeling – this sense of wandering, uncertainty and dread that's penetrating my bones. I try to tell myself that I'll feel better when Hawthorne's hovercraft and, presumably, reinforcements get here. But I know I'm not foolin' anybody.

I am, however, slightly relieved when I glimpse the girl stompin' toward town, madder than a wild dog, with the kid scramblin' tryin' to catch up to her from behind. They're a couple hundred yards away, but I can hear him callin' her name, shoutin' for her to slow up and wait for him. She yells back to him somethin' about missin' his train if he don't hurry, and angrily slings her game bag back up over her shoulder. I can't stop myself from laughin' at the image that pops in my head of her stoppin' abruptly, swiftly loadin' her bow, and turnin' on the poor kid before he even knows what's about to happen. Having found myself on the pointy end of one of her tantrums before, I know the boy wouldn't stand a chance if she decided to take him out in frustration.

She hasn't seen me yet, and I'm not necessarily in a hurry to wrangle with her when she's this ornery – I know she is not gonna be in any kinda mood to be told she has to lie low with bodyguards for the next hour or day or week. So, I'm just makin' my way toward her leisurely, until somethin' catches my eye.

Directly across the square from her, headin' straight in her direction, is someone who simply cannot actually be there. I stop involuntarily, I am so caught off guard by his image. He's closer to me than she is, though not by much. And his eyes are dead set on her, with the biggest damn grin I ever did see. Only the look on his face isn't reassuring, it doesn't make me happy – it makes my insides curl. I begin to stumble forward, still tryin' to process what I'm seein', grateful that Katniss is in such a fit right now that she's pretty much tuned out everything around her except for the kid who is still persisting behind her.

Rapidly my brain jumps into overdrive, simultaneously processing everyone and everything within our line of vision, while frantically trying to recall the memory of the last time I saw this man so I can do a mental comparison between the known entity from my past and whoever this is in front of me now. One thing is clear, though, he is making a beeline straight for her. And given Gale's phone call, and my own gut reaction to his presence, I quickly decide that the threat – though still far from clear – is no longer completely unknown.

And then I hear it. An unmistakable sound from my past that is so sweet it threatens to crack the walls I have so carefully constructed over these last few decades. He's singing. Not just any song, either. He's singing that song – the one she sang, the one that is sure to capture her attention just as her snares capture rabbits in the glen.

Sure enough, her head snaps around, searching out the source of the sweet melody. Even though I feel as if I'm watching this unfold in front of me in slow motion, I am already unconsciously quickening my steps. As her eyes lock onto the singer, as she freezes mid-step in shock from the sight of him, as her game bag drops with a thud next to her well-worn boot, my heartbeat accelerates and all my senses sharpen.

It is only when I hear her exclaim that one word, when I see her own feet start to fly toward him, when I glimpse Peeta's mouth drop open as he hones in on what has grabbed her attention and begins to move faster behind her, that I sprint toward her with every last ounce of speed this old body can conjure.

"DADDY!"

If there was any shred of my heart that was still intact after all these years, it is ripped apart at the sound of the hope and relief and excitement and disbelief and pure vulnerability that escapes from this girl, my girl, at this moment. I can only assume it is that anguish that gives me the push I need to intercept her just before she reaches him.

I manage to grab her arms and place myself directly between her and this visage of Burt Everdeen just as Peeta comes up from behind. One look from me and he understands immediately that we've identified the threat. He moves to take my place in restraining her as I turn to face the well-known stranger in front of us. I'm not sure which of us is going to have the harder task.

"Burt. Been a while." I am purposefully keeping a few feet between us, with myself directly in front of the girl. "Burt" has stopped and is smiling amicably.

"Haymitch! It's good to see you, though I'll thank you to move aside and let me hug my daughter." He steps to peer around me to catch her eye as he says, "Hi Little Bird! I've missed you so much! But my old jacket looks good on you and I see you've been puttin' my bow to good use," he nods toward the bow still strapped on her shoulder.

"Daddy! Peeta get off of me! Haymitch, what are you doing! That's my father! Get out of my way!" Her screams are shrill, wild – it's more than obvious that right now, in this moment, she's nothing more than a little girl clamoring for her daddy.

I ignore the girl, trusting Peeta to keep her secured long enough for me to figure out what the hell we're dealin' with here. "Well, I'm all for family reunions, but do me a favor and humor my paranoid ass. You, of all people, should know how difficult I can be when somethin's gnawin' at me." The vague reference to our past friendship is deliberate on my part – I don't know exactly who this is, but if he wants to maintain credibility, he can't just dismiss my concerns if we have a history.

"Not at all, Haymitch. In fact, I owe you a great debt. I can't thank you enough for helpin' my little girl survive everything she's been through."

Uh huh. "So, tell us, then, where you been all this time?" Let's cut to the chase, I figure.

His pleasant expression clouds, replaced by a grim look on his face. I briefly note that there are more than a few onlookers watching our little group with interest, though none are daring to come close at this point. I don't mind the audience, though. I'm hopeful that more numbers will mean less of an opportunity for an incident before our backup gets here.

"We were taken – Jed and I both, just before they exploded the mine. They wanted to interrogate us about the rebellion. We were prisoners for years, moved from place to place around Panem. For a while they kept us together, but eventually I never saw Jed again. I was released a few months ago when the war ended, at a military base outside of District Three. But I've been recovering from…injuries in a hospital in two until two weeks ago. I've been makin' my way back here since I got out. I don't think Jed survived."

I notice that Katniss has quieted herself enough to listen to the response, but I don't take my eyes off of him as he speaks. Every instinct I have is tellin' me he is not who he purports to be, but I'm gonna have to find a way to reveal that so she understands, and fast.

"Awful long time to hold a suspected rebel leader."

He shrugs and smiles a bit, "We never did understand their ways, did we Mitch?"

The use of my long-unused nickname is unnerving, to be sure, but I don't show it.

"Now, I've waited a long time to hold my daughter. So, if you don't mind?"

He sure is pleasant enough, but I've seen every kind of soft, gentle, beautiful deadly trap there is. Of course his statement just makes the girl renew her struggle to free herself from the kid's arms all over again. Knew his strength would come in handy someday.

"Please! This is my daddy! Let me go!"

"Sorry, Burt, I can't let you do that just yet."

There's a glint of something less-than-pleasant that crosses his eyes so swiftly nobody else might ever see it. But I've built a life on noticin' what others don't.

"Now, Haymitch, while it's heartening to see you more sober than you ever were when I was around, after all I've been through, you really can't expect me to let you stop me from being with my Little Bird, can you?"

"How's Lily? Been to see her yet?"

The question catches him off guard just a bit, but again he recovers quickly. Almost too quickly.

"No, I haven't. Once I could travel, I focused on gettin' here, home to 12, as fast as I could. I was told about Katniss being sent here after the war, and knew I had to get back to her."

"Then, you know about Prim, too."

Inwardly I'm cringing from sounding so callous about the one thing I know the girl is even more vulnerable about than her dad. But I need to trip him up. I need to expose the imitation for what it is. She may very well hate me the rest of her life after today, but I'll be damned if I'm not gonna do whatever it takes to keep her safe. She deserves nothin' less.

Burt doesn't respond at first, looks at me with a vacant, empty stare before turning his gaze toward Katniss once again. When he speaks, it's soft and soothing and subtle.

"Yes, I know my Little Duck is gone now. That's why I'm here – I'm not going to lose another daughter."

I cock my head and raise my eyebrow at him. "Whatdya mean, lose another daughter?"

He looks at me now, and gets a cocky grin I don't like one bit. "Well, I assume that's what's behind your attitude and behavior, right? You're aware she's in danger? And you think I may be the threat?"

Katniss is going nuts now. "What? What danger? Daddy, what are you talking about? Peeta, if you don't let me go I swear…!"

I turn to face her now, struggling to maintain or regain control of the situation – I'm not even sure which right now.

"Sweetheart, we got a call this morning. That's why we were out lookin' for you. I promise, we'll explain everything. Just be patient." The look I'm giving her as I say this communicates a lot more than my words do. Thankfully, her survival instincts are still strong enough that our ability to communicate without words still seems to be intact. She stops struggling against the boy's grip enough for me to turn back to the intruder.

"You sure seem to know an awful lot for someone who just got outta prison after six years."

"I've had a lot of practice at obtaining important information, haven't I?"

I regard him now. Nothing, absolutely nothing he has said or done thus far suggests he isn't exactly who he says he is – Burt Everdeen, loving father, doting husband, loyal friend, underground rebel leader. And yet I don't believe it. Not for one instant.

"If you were recoverin' in a hospital, why didn't you send word? We could have come to you."

"Well, guess we both suffer from an inability to trust people, don't we? I wasn't sure who I could trust to deliver that kind of message. And besides, after I'd been gone for so long, who would have believed a letter? I figured I needed to be here face to face so she could see her Daddy really was still alive."

This isn't working, I realize. Son of a bitch has an answer for everything. Time to change tactics.

"Well, then, let's you and me head over to my house, we'll just call up District Two or Three to corroborate your story, and then there won't be any more doubts, will there?

"I left my daughter once, Haymitch, I'm not leavin' her again. So, as long as Catnip comes with us, that's just fine with me."

It's as if the air itself stills. I don't even have to turn around to be certain that both the girl and the kid have noticed it also. This slip-up is the proof I need. He never called her that – and she never even met Gale until after he was gone. There's no way her real father would know about that nickname.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, I simply extend my hand out back behind me, silently asking the kid for what I need. The three of us move almost imperceptibly backward as one. It's not until I feel the reassuring hilt in my hand that he opts to finally drop this cruel charade.

He notes our change in demeanor and his eyes grow cold. "I see the time for deception has passed." Everything happens so quickly it's hard to track. A guttural, heartfelt, wrenching scream pours out of Katniss as Peeta lifts her and begins to carry her away. Just as I bring my first swipe of the knife Peeta has just returned to me across my front, the imposter rips off his jacket, flinging it away. His entire countenance has changed. No sign of the pleasant, friendly, gentle façade remains. The menacing snarl on his face now is intent on one thing only: killing.

We stand apart, sizing each other up, preparing for the inevitable fight. He appears to be about the same size as me, and now that he's no longer wearing a jacket to conceal his physical build, I realize he's in much better shape than someone who had been in captivity for six years. The imposter charges, swinging at my head with his fist. I use the opportunity to duck under his arm, dragging my knife along his side as I go, and step past him, bringing the back of my arm down forcefully upon his back. He stumbles forward one step, but doesn't seem to be affected by either injury much at all. And his back feels more like a brick wall than a combination of flesh and bone. I use the opportunity while our backs are still toward each other to pull the other knife out of my holster, feeling much more confident with both hands armed.

He spins around, a sneer curling his lip up now. "I'm going to make you watch me snap her neck, you know." I'm pretty sure she hasn't heard him, with the wailing still comin' from her and the low volume he uses to issue his threat. I can only hope she regains enough sense to accept that this monstrosity is most definitely not the honorable man she rightfully worshipped before her childhood came to a crushing end.

He comes at me again, this time tackling me around the middle with one arm and his shoulder, while the other hand barrels into my side. I hear the crack as one of my ribs bears the brunt of his blow. I manage to extricate myself by jamming one of my blades into his shoulder as I use my knee to push him backwards and off of me. I am fighting off images of my own Quarter Quell days, trying to stay focused on anticipating my foe's next move. He is a far more lethal opponent than even the career-trained tributes who were still children. At least with them a wound inflicted had some debilitating effect. This thing I fight now does not even flinch from the cut and stab I've managed to deliver so far. I am clearly outmatched.

We engage again, only this time we're wrestling one another, falling to the ground and rolling back and forth. When he is able to bang the knife out of one of my hands with just one forceful blow, retrieving it for himself, I wonder whether anyone will help the kid protect her after I'm gone.

I grunt as the knife bores into my side, etching the devilish grin on this fiend's face as he inflicts as much damage as he can. I weakly try to reciprocate, flailing my left hand with the knife toward his head, but am easily and deftly deflected. I am fervently hoping the kid has dragged her away from here and has a plan to escape when suddenly the immobilizing weight is ripped off of me as a blur topples my enemy to the side.

I can't get up, as much as I want to. I can only lie on the ground, hand at my side trying to staunch the fluid flow of blood. I crane my neck to see the girl kneeling, tears streaming down her face. She's in shock, I'm sure of it. But she's not looking at me, instead, I see her looking off to the side. And when I follow her stare, I see the kid rising to his feet, positioning himself between her and the still-armed attacker. The kid wipes blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, but focuses intently on the threat in front of him that he's now taken on. The threat I wasn't strong enough to subdue.

"So, you want in on the game, huh bread boy?" He taunts him, a wicked smile on his face. "My pleasure."

He starts to lunge directly for Peeta, and I blind myself with pain in my futile attempt to rise to help. But then, just as the knife is about to make contact with its target, three ear-splitting shots echo off the buildings behind us. Our nemesis stops mid-step, standing taller as the red pools appear and expand on his chest. He looks down, confirming his suspicions that for him, the game is over, before falling to the side in a heap.

Just before I collapse into empty, painless oblivion, I look back to see Gale Hawthorne, surrounded by soldiers, still holding the gun that has just killed the evil reincarnation of Katniss' father.


	25. Memories

"Assefa, Conlon – secure the mutt." Gale barks the order to two of his men, who immediately move forward toward the imposter of Katniss' dad, curiously handcuffing first, and then dragging the body away.

I turn around and see Katniss still kneeling on the ground behind me, but the blank look in her eyes coupled with the tears streaming silently down her face make me approach her with caution.

"Katniss?" I ask softly. "Katniss, can you hear me?"

She doesn't move, doesn't meet my gaze as I crouch down slowly in front of her, gently tucking stray hairs behind her ear. "Oh, Katniss."

"She's in shock. We need to get her home." Gale is standing a few feet from us, gun slung over his shoulder. He turns back toward the soldiers again.

"Taylor, Braun, give us a hand here."

Two more soldiers come forward, and I realize that Gale intends for them to take Katniss back to the house.

"No! I'll take her."

"Commander!" Another soldier is kneeling next to Haymitch, who I realize hasn't moved from where he fell. He's calling for Gale, who glances quickly at me before striding over to Haymitch.

I look at Taylor and Braun. "Just stay with her for a minute. But don't touch her."

I quickly make my way over to Haymitch, and see the pool of blood that is growing even as we stand there. Instantly I'm on my knees by his side, grabbing his shoulders.

"Haymitch! Haymitch! Come on! You can't do this! Wake up!"

"What happened to him? How'd he get hurt?"

"That thing stabbed him with a knife."

Gale pulls out a radio and calls for a medic. I watch Haymitch's face, which seems to grow paler with each passing second.

"Gale, there are no doctors here, no hospital. You have to get him out of here. You can't let him die!"

"We're on it. The medics are coming, and the hovercraft has a medical bay. We'll do everything we can."

Two more soldiers carrying bags instead of guns come running toward us, and I back up as they begin to assess Haymitch's condition and work on his injuries. I'm torn between wanting to stay with him to make sure he's alright, and needing to take care of Katniss, who still hasn't come out of the fog she's apparently succumbed to.

"Mellark! Take her home and give her this." Gale hands me a small vial out of the bag one of the medics brought. I look at him questioningly.

"It will make her sleep," he explains. "You can't do anything more here. I'll get him to the hovercraft and meet you back at the house."

I look at him now, and realize he looks as if he hasn't slept in two or three days. The stubble on his face is lengthy, the bags under his eyes dark, and his hair is scraggly and unkempt.

"What was that? What the hell happened, Gale?"

"I'll tell you everything I know, but we need to take care of them first. Go on – she needs to get out of here, and I've gotta get Haymitch to the med bay if we have any hope of saving him."

I nod, and turn back to Katniss. She's stopped crying, but is just staring without seeing. My heart breaks, and I swallow my own fears and anxiety as I whisper to her, "I'm going to take you home now, Katniss. Okay? It's over – you're safe now."

I put the vial Gale handed me in my pocket, then gingerly place one arm around her back and the other on her legs, lifting her up and repositioning her so I can carry her bridal-style back to her house. The weight of an unresponsive Katniss in my arms is eerily familiar, though, and I shake my head a few times to dispose of the unpleasant de ja vu feelings. I plead with my brain not to slip into an episode now.

Gale addresses the two soldiers closest to us. "Go with them – make sure they get back to the house safely, and wait there until I arrive."

I'm not crazy about an armed guard escort – does this mean there may still be a threat? – but decide to put them to use. "Can you guys grab her bow and arrows and the game bag?" They collect the items and follow behind me. Katniss is still shut down, eyes open but unseeing, arms hanging limply. Her head lolls against my shoulder, and I can't resist the urge to rest my chin on it, and even lean down to lightly kiss the top of her head as I carry her home. I have missed touching her, being close to her, more than I've wanted to admit to myself.

Images of the confrontation we just narrowly escaped blur in my mind as I walk. I was so stunned when I first laid eyes on the man, or mutt, or whatever it was. I mean, I instantly recognized him as Katniss' father, having watched them around town and the bakery for so many years. But I had been baffled as to how he could be here. I shiver at the thought of how, if it hadn't been for Haymitch, I probably wouldn't have been thinking clearly or quickly enough to recognize the danger he represented.

Haymitch. My gut wrenches thinking about him, wondering what his condition is right now. He almost died protecting Katniss. As irritating and grating as he is, I don't know what we would do without him. He's become like a second father to both of us. He has to pull through this.

We make it to the house, and I tell the soldiers to just drop the stuff in the living room as I carry Katniss upstairs. I lay her down in her bed, taking off her boots, undoing the braid from her hair, and tucking her under a blanket. I quickly head back down to the kitchen and heat up some water to make her tea. I look around the kitchen as I wait for it to warm up, feeling somewhat like an intruder in a space that had once been so familiar, so comfortable. There are dirty dishes in the sink, some leftover food on the counter, and a generally disorderly feel to the place. Guilt washes over me as the signs of Katniss' unhappiness this past week confront me.

The tea kettle whistles, and I hastily prepare some mint tea, adding a generous amount of the medicine from the vial Gale gave me. Back upstairs, Katniss lies exactly as I left her, eyes still vacant, her face expressionless. It's starting to unnerve me, frankly, but I tell myself that with a good sleep she'll snap out of this. I can't begin to imagine the duress holding her mind hostage right now, but I know I'll never leave her like this. I'll be here when she comes out of it, to make sure she comes out of it. After that….I snap back to the present. There's only so much my mind can process right now.

I coax her up to a sitting position. She won't take the cup herself, but by holding it up to her mouth and whispering encouragement to drink some to her, I manage to get almost half the cup in her before her eyelids start to droop. I gently lay her back on the bed, rearranging the blankets once more. I pull the curtains at the window to darken the room, and pause in the doorway to look back at her.

She's so broken, again. And I hate myself for partly being responsible for her current state. I know her shock this morning was because of seeing that thing that looked like her father. But I also know that I've contributed to her fragile state of mind, and it kills me inside. All I want to do right now is crawl into the bed, wrap her in my arms, and hold her. But given everything that's happened between us these last few days, I force myself to quietly pull her door closed and go downstairs instead.

Since leaving the house is not an option in case she wakes up, I busy myself with cleaning. Even in good times, Katniss is not one for housework or cleanliness. The mess awaiting me in the kitchen and living room confirms that the last few days have not been good for her. I set to work, grateful to have something to occupy my hands, even if the tasks can't fully keep my mind off the events that have shattered my world in the last week. It's hard to believe it's been less than a week since my breakdown in the meadow – it seems like so long ago now. But cleaning provides a welcome distraction to pass the time as I await Gale and the ensuing explanation for what's happened here today.

Over an hour later there's finally a knock at the door. I open it to find Gale dismissing the soldiers who have been standing guard on the porch this entire time. I leave the door open and head back into the kitchen to put on some coffee. He looks like he could use some, and I just want something to do besides looking like a kid waiting for the grownups to spend time with me. I admonish myself for letting Gale get under my skin like that. After all, he probably just saved my life. Again.

He closes the door behind him and joins me in the kitchen. "Where's Catnip? How is she?"

"She's upstairs, sleeping."

Without a second glance at me, he turns on his heel and takes the steps two at a time. My feeble protest dies on my lips. I remind myself that I forfeited my right to speak on her behalf four days ago. Besides, were our roles reversed, nothing would stop me from seeing her with my own eyes either.

I proceed to make the coffee I started, and after several minutes hear him traipse back down the steps. His military boots must make it hard to maintain his usual silent gait. Either that, or he is purposefully announcing his commanding presence.

He returns to the kitchen and I hand him one of the mugs I'm holding, motioning for him to join me at the table. We sit opposite one another, not antagonistically, but not friendly either.

"Haymitch?"

He shrugs a bit. "In recovery. They had to operate, and he lost a lot of blood. We should know by tonight or tomorrow if he's going to pull through."

I nod grimly in response, the way you're supposed to when accepting bad news about which there's nothing you can do. Inside, I'm far from acceptance, however.

"So, you want to tell me what the hell that was? And why we didn't have more warning about it?"

Gale peers at me intently, but my eyes meet his with the same level of determination. He may be trying to intimidate, but I refuse to allow myself to feel threatened by Gale Hawthorne anymore. I have, quite simply, just been through too much for that. He shifts forward a bit in his chair, both hands wrapped around the mug sitting on the table in front of him.

"It was a mutt, very sophisticated, designed as an assassin."

I simply look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Ten days ago, a man arrived at the Presidential Palace, claiming to be President Paylor's long-lost little brother from District 7. He actually made it to her office, he was so convincing. Luckily, the President's instincts are still suspicious and sharp. She managed to trip him up with a memory from their childhood that he had incorrect. When they tried to detain him, they discovered that this was no ordinary man. He had incredible strength combined with killer instincts, and was apparently impervious to pain. It took 5 guards and two direct shots to the heart to take him down."

I am processing all of this information, slowly grasping the magnitude of what I'm hearing.

"Are you saying that there are more of these things out there?"

Rather than responding to my question, Gale continues with his story.

"Naturally an investigation was launched immediately. I wasn't involved at that point, but Paylor hand-picked a small group of people she felt she could completely trust and charged them with finding out who or what that was. Their investigation brought them to District Two, which is when I got involved."

He takes a long drink of his coffee before resuming.

"Apparently, Snow had been funding a secret lab that was doing some pretty questionable and horrific research, really pushing the boundaries of mutt development. It seems he had been creating doubles of some of his more troublesome political opponents, and using them to replace the real people as just one more way to maintain his control and authority. Once they had eliminated the opposition, the mutt was quietly disposed of, often making it look like natural causes."

"The lab was located just outside the boundaries of District Two, completely underground, and only known to a handful of people within Snow's regime. We managed to track it down and take it over, and while we were able to detain several of the scientists, some of Snow's people and their…creations had escaped before we got there."

"But we didn't know who or where they were – almost all the records had been destroyed just before we infiltrated the facility. It wasn't hard to come up with a list of potential targets – you, Catnip, Haymitch, Heavensbee – but there could also have been military targets, or some of the newer political officials. Thankfully, Beetee was able to slowly start recreating some of the deleted computer files, but it took time."

He paused again, just staring down at his hands.

"Beetee found my father's file on the third day."

I'm not quite sure I've heard him correctly. "Your father's file? What do you mean?"

He lets out a long breath, adopting a stony face before he speaks again.

"My dad didn't die in the mine accident. It was a cover-up. They kidnapped him, held him prisoner as a suspected rebel leader. They interrogated him for months before they finally executed him at that facility."

The weight of this revelation is bearing down on my chest like a vice. "Gale, I'm so – "

He looks me right in the eye before I can even finish. "He wasn't the only one."

The bottom drops out of my stomach as I realize the implication of what he's telling me. "Katniss' dad."

He nods, confirming the horrible truth.

"The thing that attacked you today, that was not actually Burt Everdeen. It was a very sophisticated mutt, specifically bred to imitate him. From what we've been able to piece together, they created it almost a year ago, right after your victory tour. Once the war was over, the lunatics still loyal to Snow decided to just continue their work, hoping to cause as much damage as possible or just for revenge, I suppose. Whatever their motive, their goal was clear – get close to and take out the Mockingjay."

A new wave of nausea overcomes me as I recall just how close they came to succeeding. It is quickly joined by a sense of irritation, however, at being kept out of the loop.

"You should have told us. We had no warning!"

"Hey – they tried to get Haymitch to the Capitol to brief him about what they knew, which four days ago wasn't much. But he didn't come. And we didn't have knowledge about a concrete threat to Katniss until last night. It was a lucky break, even at that."

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently, the mutt traveled through District 11 on his way here. Only he killed a Peacekeeper while he was there – we're not sure why. By the time the body was discovered, the mutt was long gone. But there was an old security video still operating not far from where the murder happened. It was only early this morning that the footage made it to my office in District Two – we'd put out an alert to all the districts to report any unusual activity or violent incidents just in case we could get a lead that way."

"I saw that video recording one hour before I called you – that was how long it took me to put the pieces together, get the authorization to come here with a full squad via hovercraft and extricate you, Katniss and Haymitch."

"Why didn't you tell me on the phone? You could have told us what to look for!"

Gale's face contorts as he attempts to control his temper at my suggestion that he had not done enough to warn us. "We had no way of knowing if your phone line had already been compromised! I barely had enough time to make the call before we had to board the hovercraft! And, would you really have believed me if I had told you that Katniss' dad was alive and on his way to kill her?"

He had a point there. Given our last conversation, I probably would have been pretty skeptical of his motives with a story like that.

"I did what I could and got here as quickly as I could."

The silence between us is awkward. Of course I'm grateful to Gale for showing up when he did – I'm well aware that my chances of holding off the mutt much longer were slim at best. But part of me rankles at the thought that he came crashing in to save the day at the last possible moment, quite possibly at the expense of Haymitch's life. Part of me is jealous that I couldn't protect her, save her, the way he did.

"Are there any more?"

He looks at me for a moment before responding. "We aren't sure. It'll take another week or so for Beetee to finish his work trying to recover the data files. We may be able to determine whether additional threats exist."

I nod silently. Who else from our past might show up unexpectedly, sending us spiraling downward into a new form of hell based in memories of loss?

We sit for a while in silence, both of us occasionally drinking from our mugs, lost in our own thoughts. As I come to grips with the reality of the situation, I realize how much we owe Gale. Had it not been for his efforts, however vague or last minute, we would all have been caught completely off guard, and most likely be dead by now.

"Listen, Gale, thank you."

He looks at me for a moment, then nods gruffly.

"No, really, I mean it. You saved us, you saved her. I recognize that. I won't forget it."

"You would have done the same."

I'm struck by the praise, and impressed once again by his ability to be gracious in the midst of what must be a hard situation for him.

"So, how is she? Before this, I mean?"

I'm hesitant now, not wanting to reveal what had transpired before this latest crisis. My certainty about leaving, while not abated, has wavered. I also have conflicting feelings about giving Gale an opening – if he finds out about my episode, about my plans to leave, I'm confident he will insert himself forcefully as her protector, or more. I'm not sure how I would react to that. It was one thing to leave District 12 when she was going to be alone, with no prospect of renewed contact between her and Gale. But with him here, I find myself questioning my ability to just walk away. I at least need to talk with her.

"She's doing better, like I said. Slowly making a life. She even agreed to hunt and provide food for Sae to open a café in town."

He looks surprised, but accepts the good news of her progress. "And you two? I take it you're together now?"

I can't outright lie, but I certainly don't intend to be forthcoming either. "We, um, yeah, we've been working on our relationship, I guess. We, uh, had a fight a few days ago, so this week was rough."

He chuckles a bit at this. "Yeah, she always was temperamental. I'm sure whatever it was will blow over in light of this morning, though."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak without revealing my serious doubts about that prediction. I really want out of this uncomfortable conversation.

"Are you hungry? I can make us some lunch while we wait."

"Thanks, no. I need to get back to the hovercraft. I'll come by later this afternoon to see if she's up yet. I'd like to talk to her, since I'm here and all."

"Of course. Well, I'll let her know if she wakes up."

"Thanks. And I'll send word about Haymitch as soon as I know anything."

"Okay. I'll be here."

He downs the last of his coffee, and gets up to leave. "I'm going to station a couple of guards outside the house, just in case. I don't think there is any imminent danger, but I don't want to take any chances."

I'm not crazy about the idea, but if there is a chance that another mutt is going to show up, I'd just as soon have the help nearby. "Alright. Thanks."

And with that he turns and lets himself out. I sit for a long time at the table, multiple emotions coursing through me as I try to cope with my own feelings about what transpired this morning, and my utter confusion about where to go from here. Until this morning, I had been convinced that I was the greatest threat to Katniss' safety – confident in my decision to remove that threat by leaving.

But now I have to concede that, while I still believe I am a threat to her, there may be far greater threats to her well-being out there. And if that's true, I'm not at all sure that I could live with myself if I wasn't here to protect her. However, so many questions hurtle through my mind I quickly develop a headache. What if Haymitch doesn't survive? What if he does? What if Katniss doesn't want anymore to do with me? What if Gale finds out about my episode and reasserts himself in her life, even moves back here to District 12? What if I have another episode and try to kill her again myself? What if the worst happens? What if we can't protect her – how would I be able to go on?

Feeling completely overwhelmed, uncertain and inadequate, I lower my head onto my arms on the table and sob, hoping no one overhears my despair.

* * *

Hours later, I'm tending the fire in the woodstove. The house is now spotless, as I turned relentlessly to cleaning once I collected myself enough to stifle the sobs that had overcome me earlier. I've successfully managed to distract myself with mundane household chores, indulging my need to see her every couple of hours by sneaking upstairs as quietly as I can and just peering into the room, reassuring myself that she is still safe, still breathing, still here with me.

So I am startled when I turn around and find her staring at me, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed protectively over her chest, her face expressionless, but at least not the vacant, absent look she had this morning.

"Hi." I don't approach her, as much as I want to scoop her up and hold her tightly. In addition to feeling unclear about our boundaries thanks to my decision this week, I'm apprehensive about her mental state right now and decide to tread lightly, let her take the lead.

"You're still here." Her tone is flat, unfeeling.

"Um, yeah. I hope that's okay."

"Why? Why are you still here?"

It could be my own uncertainty filtering this conversation, but I wince slightly at the accusatory tone I detect in her questions.

"Well, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"You didn't care before – whether I would be alright or not."

"That's not true, Katniss." This is not going at all the way I want, and I'm growing increasingly defensive. "Look, we don't have to talk about this right now. How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

She stares at me, unblinking, unwavering, and her scrutiny is almost painful.

"Have you changed your mind? Have you decided to stay?"

"Katniss, please, let's discuss this later. I think we need to talk about what happened this morning."

Her brow furrows in confusion, and I really don't know what to make of that.

"What are you talking about? What happened this morning?"

I'm stunned silent for a moment. I look at her, trying to figure out if she's serious.

"Katniss, don't you remember? What happened in town, after you came back from hunting this morning?"

She looks uncomfortable for a moment, but then shakes her head, closes her eyes briefly, and then looks at me as if I'm the one who's gone crazy.

"I came home and went to bed. I woke up and you're here. Nothing happened in town." The earnest look on her face tells me she honestly doesn't remember. More likely, I fear, she's so traumatized by it, that she's simply blocked it out in order to cope.

I take a step toward her, but can see her visibly stiffen in response. I stop, putting up my hands to show her I'm not a threat.

"Katniss, that's not what happened. Try to think, try to remember. I was looking for you, and found you as you were coming out of the forest."

"No, Peeta. I came home, just as always. You were going to be on the train. I even heard its whistle. I don't know when you came here, but I haven't seen you today before now. And frankly, I'm not sure why you're even here. I think you should go home now."

I stare at her, shocked and concerned. I don't know what to do. I'm pretty sure that arguing with her, spelling out the truth in a confrontational way is not the way to go right now. But I also don't think I can just let her go on like this, pretending nothing happened. Only there's no one here to help me, Haymitch is out of commission, and potentially in danger of dying. Greasy Sae, Thom, Mrs. Everdeen, Johanna, Annie – my mind races through all the people I wish were here this very instant to offer counsel or assistance. Right now I'd even take Gale's advice, but I have no way of knowing when he'll be back. Then, I remember the guards stationed out on the porch.

"Katniss, I can't leave you alone yet. I know you don't understand why, but you'll just have to trust me. I'm just going to step outside for a minute. I'll be right back, and will make you something to eat, alright?"

She doesn't respond, but instead turns around and heads back upstairs. I follow her down the hall, but watch her ascend the steps and close the door to her bedroom before I open the front door and step out.

"Excuse me?"

The soldiers turn toward me, eyes quickly scanning the inside of the house behind me for any signs of trouble.

"Yes, sir! Anything wrong, sir?"

Well, for starters, the fact that they are calling me sir. "No, not really. But, do you have any way of contacting Gale? Commander Hawthorne, I mean?"

They glance at one another, but then one replies. "Yes, we can call on our radios and have a message relayed."

"Perfect. Would you please tell him that Katniss, er, Miss Everdeen, is awake, and ask him to come to the house."

He nods, and immediately pulls out his radio. I quietly step back inside and close the door behind me. I listen for a moment, and hear the sound of the shower running upstairs. Running my hands through my hair, I head back to the kitchen, absentmindedly pulling food together for a late-day meal for Katniss. After assembling a sandwich and some fruit, I put water on for tea again.

I notice the shower has stopped, but don't detect any sign of her coming back downstairs. I'm about to take the plate up to her room, when the front door opens loudly.

"Cat-" he starts to call her for her.

"Shhhhh!" I loudly shush him as I make my way toward him, pushing him back out the door, which I pull shut behind me.

"What the hell! You said she was awake! What the fuck, Mellark?!"

"We have to talk, out here. Follow me."

I lead him to the side of the house on the opposite side of her room. He is clearly agitated, but I don't care.

"I want to see her, now! What the hell is going on?!" His voice is only a notch or two below shouting. I cringe, half expecting the window above us to fly open.

Purposefully lowering my voice, I try to explain."She doesn't remember."

"What does that mean? Doesn't remember what?"

"Any of it, Gale. She doesn't remember any of it! She says nothing happened this morning. She's blocked the whole thing out of her mind. When I tried to remind her, she just got agitated and shut me out."

He looks at me now, disbelief and anger morphing into confusion and concern. "Shit."

"Yeah. I know."

"What does she say happened?"

"Just that she went hunting, came home and went to bed."

"That's it?! Nothing else?"

"Nothing! I don't even think she remembers walking through town this morning."

I watch him run his hands over his head, interlacing them behind his neck.

"Gale, she has no idea you're here."

He looks at me, and for a brief second I detect the hurt in his eyes. It is quickly replaced by his steely resolve I'm so used to seeing by now.

"We have to tell her. Everything."

"Hang on! I'm not sure we can just barge in there and lay it all out for her! Who knows what kind of damage that might do?"

"Well what do you suggest?!" he spits back at me. "You think we just let her live this delusion and pretend none of this ever happened? Gonna be pretty damn hard if Haymitch dies!"

My gut feels as if I'm been punched. "What? How is he? Did something happen?"

He shakes his head. "No, he's still out of it. But they still can't say what's gonna happen. I think they expected him to be awake by now, but there's no indication he's coming out of it."

I lean both hands against the side of the house, trying to hold myself up under the weight of all this. I know Gale's right, of course. She has to be told. But I can't shake the sense that how that happens is as important as it happening at all.

Unfortunately, I don't get a chance to work that through before I hear her voice, clear as day.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing at my house?!"

Gale and I look at each other. He turns to start back to the front of the house, but I grab his arm.

"Wait!" I hiss at him. "You can't just show up like this – who knows how she'll react. Give me a couple of minutes, then come to the door."

He looks as if he's going to argue with me, but I step around him and quickly make my way to the porch.

"Katniss! Come back inside – I'll explain in there."

She is scowling fiercely at the poor soldiers stationed outside, and directs her furious glare toward me as I continue to move toward them and up the steps. She's made no move to go back in. I stand in front of her, allowing the two soldiers to back off slightly, but make no move to touch her or steer her through the door.

"Katniss, please," I soothe. I know she's angry due to being scared and confused. "I promise, I'll answer all your questions. Just come inside the house with me."

The look she gives me cuts deeply – she's obviously questioning whether or not to trust me. I can only hope that as the morning's events come back to her, if they come back to her, she'll understand that I've only been acting to protect her this entire time.

Reluctantly she turns and moves back through the doorway, heading for the living room. I follow her in, gently closing the door behind me as I see Gale peering around the corner of the house. I silently mouth to him, "Five minutes" before heading in.

I walk into the living room, and take a seat in on the sofa. Katniss is pacing back and forth, agitated and irritated by her unwelcome and surprising guests. I debate whether to offer to start a fire, but I know Gale won't wait very long. I need to at least prepare her for what's, or more specifically, who's coming.

"Who are those men?! Why are they here? When did they get here? What is going on, Peeta!?" She is practically shouting at me, and I find myself growing weary of constantly being the one who is trying to remain calm.

"Katniss, I promise I will explain who they are and why they are here, but let me start from the beginning, okay? I know you don't remember much about earlier today." She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. "Please, just hear me out." She huffs her acquiescence, resuming her frustrated pacing.

"Early this morning, before I left for the train, I received a warning that you were in danger."

This gets her attention, as she halts abruptly and her eyes immediately snap to my own.

"You were out hunting, though I didn't know that at the time. I went to get Haymitch, and the two of us set off looking for you."

"What kind of danger?"

"We didn't know at the time. The warning wasn't very…specific. We just knew that we needed to find you, and to stay together."

"So that's why you decided not to get on the train."

Now it's my turn to avert my eyes. I lower my head, but nod in agreement. "Yes, I stayed because I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Well I'm fine, obviously. So I guess there's no need for you to stay any longer." Her words are icy, but I can't help feeling as if there's an implied question in her statement as well. I avoid getting sidetracked, though – the clock is ticking.

"You are fine, yes, but there was an…incident. Earlier, in town. After I found you coming out of the woods, there was…an attack."

I look at her now, trying to judge whether my words are having any effect on her memory. She just stares at me, not blankly as she had this morning, but without comprehension or recollection either.

"Katniss, there was a fight. Haymitch met us and intercepted the attacker before he could get to you."

"Why are you making this up, Peeta? I think I would remember if I had been attacked this morning. I don't even remember being in town."

I sigh, but my words start to come out more urgently. I'm running out of time before Katniss' walls are going to come crashing down around her again.

"Katniss, try to remember. Haymitch was fighting, but he was hurt. I left you to try to fight off the attacker as well, but…" I'm not sure how much more to say.

"But what, Peeta? What is it you think happened?" She's looking at me as if she would a small child who was weaving a fib. But then her scowl softens just a bit. "Peeta, maybe it's not my memory that's at fault here. Maybe…maybe you were having another episode."

I try to ignore the defensiveness boiling in me at her accusation. I remind myself that it's perfectly plausible from her perspective. And I attempt to keep my tone even as I reply.

"No, Katniss, that's not what happened. I was not having another episode. I was fighting your attacker, but he was stronger and better armed. He was about to go through me to get to you, when…"

She looks at me impatiently, still disbelieving the tale I'm trying to piece together so carefully for her.

"When what, Peeta? What are you trying to say?"

I take a deep breath, but don't get a chance to use it. Instead, we hear the answer to her question from the entryway as Gale walks in to join us.

"When I showed up and shot the mutt who came here to kill you, Catnip."

* * *


	26. Tensions

I'm seeing things. That's the only explanation my frazzled brain can proffer at the moment. I'm hallucinating. Because if I'm not, Gale Hawthorne is standing before me, having materialized out of thin air.

I look back to Peeta, who is watching me as if I might shatter into a million shards of glass if anyone so much as breathes. I look at Gale, or the apparition, once again. My mind begins whirling dangerously.

"Katniss?" Peeta is talking to me, so I focus on his voice, on his face.

"Can you see him? Do you see Gale?"

He looks dubiously from me to Gale, then back to me again. He stands up slowly, not coming near me, but still with that concerned look on his face.

"Yes, Katniss. That's really Gale. He's here."

As if to affirm what Peeta's just said, Gale greets me and takes a step forward. "Hey, Catnip."

Gale. My best friend. My hunting partner. The Seam stud. The survivor. My stalwart. The miner. The fighter. The rebel. The soldier. The master of snares. The bomb maker. The last one who abandoned me. All of these people are now standing in my home, encompassed in the man I see before me.

"What are you - ?" but I can't finish my thought. I'm assaulted by disjointed, startling images that knock the breath out of me before I can even begin my interrogation.

_Singing. My father. The town square. Haymitch. Peeta. I can't move._

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a faint call. "Katniss? Katniss! Can you hear me?"

_Knives. Fighting. Blood. Screams. Threats._

I'm falling. I don't know where I am. I can hear voices, but I don't understand what they're saying. I feel myself moving, but I don't know how or to where.

_Evil laughter. Ear-splitting cracks. Blood. The smell of gun powder. Gale. My father._

The last image I see is Gale, standing with his gun still raised, having just shot my father. Only… it's not my father? Suddenly the room spins back into focus. I am seated in the rocking chair by the fireplace, Peeta and Gale both hovering over me like overprotective parents.

I look up at Gale, fixing him hard in my sights as I would prey I am about to take down for supper.

"You shot my father."

He returns my gaze, hackles raised by my insinuation. "No, Catnip. That wasn't your father."

"Don't call me that." The use of my old nickname is grating on my frayed nerves. Gale peers down at me before nodding almost imperceptibly.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Peeta look apprehensively between the two of us. Right now I can't decide which one I'm more angry with – Peeta or Gale. But I need information, and they seem to have it, so I try my best to control my temper and steady the shaking that is ravaging my body. I start by shoving past both of them and into the kitchen as I call back over my shoulder.

"Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on and what that… _thing_ was this morning."

As much as my move is to temper my ire, it's also an attempt to not let either of them see the tears welling in my eyes as the memories of seeing my father, or what was supposed to be my father, earlier today flash before me in no particular order. His faded pants and flannel shirt. The way his eyes lit up when he first saw me. The steely resolve I am all too familiar with as he spun the tale about his and Gale's father's captivity. The snarl that overtook his countenance as he wrestled and fought. Obviously that wasn't him – my dad would never attack anyone like that, would never sneer and laugh in such a maniacal way. My dad would never inflict harm on his friends…friends.

I whirl around abruptly, startling both of my companions again. They seem to be having trouble keeping up with me and my thoughts.

"Haymitch! Where is Haymitch? I want to see him!" I don't realize I'm shouting until the echoes of my words reverberate off the nearby walls.

Neither one rushes to answer me, and I'm about to make a dash out the door to Haymitch's house when Peeta steps forward.

"Katniss, he…he's on the hovercraft. He was injured in the fight. Do you remember?"

Images of Haymitch swinging his knife, but then falling, clutching his side, cloud my vision. Yes, I remember.

"Take me to him! I need to see him!" I can feel the panic nipping at the edges of my consciousness like a pack of wild dogs that have surrounded their next meal.

Peeta looks to Gale, who shakes his head. I round on him.

"Now, Gale. Take me to him now." My voice is much lower – I'm making no attempt to veil my threat.

"No, Katniss, I won't. They'll call me as soon as he…if there's any change. I don't think you should see him right now. We need to talk about what happened."

My voice rises uncontrollably again at this refusal. "The last thing I want is to –"

"That may be, but we still need to talk about it." Gale's stance hardens as he folds his hands over his chest, feet shoulder width apart. His eyes bore into mine, steel vs. steel. We used to lock horns like this before, but there was always a softness underneath his stubbornness when opposing me. I find no trace of it now. I surmise he thinks the same about me.

I'm tempted to just run out of the house. But without Gale I wouldn't make it onto the hovercraft. Part of me wants to escape into the woods, climb a tree and just will all of this to go away. But it's late in the day, and whatever else he may be, Gale is the best tracker I've ever known. It wouldn't take him long to find me and just drag me right back here. I could retreat upstairs, burying myself in the safety of my blankets. But my mind already clamors for answers to my questions. Hiding there now would only delay the inevitable and give my imagination more time to dream up countless fabricated explanations.

I watch his lips curl as he observes these thoughts occur and be dismissed. Even after all this time, he knows me well. And it infuriates me.

I roughly move to the table, yank out a chair and sit down. "Fine. So, what was that, and why did it look like my father?"

Gale relaxes slightly, uncrossing his arms and lowering his shoulders a bit. He sits down across from me, and Peeta takes the chair between us. I try to silence the accusations and insults my heart is longing to hurl at both of them, at least long enough to be able to hear what he has to say.

Gale begins to talk, explaining about an attack on Paylor, the subsequent investigation in Two, Snow's secret lab, and about discovering his father's records. At the mention of Jed, my throat constricts and my eyes blink several times. For a brief instant, the boy who was my best friend appears across from me, still hurting from the loss of his own dad and the ripples that sent through his own life. I see my best friend in the eyes that meet mine once more.

But when he continues, the boy is again replaced by the man who showed up here unexpectedly this morning. He pieces the story together, explaining how my father, also, had been captured and not killed in the mine explosion. As much as I want to refuse to accept it – to believe that if my father had not died in that mine, he would have done anything he had to in order to return to us – the evidence is overwhelming. He never did return. Clearly, the lab had access to my father to create that monster.

"Once I saw the video from District 11, I made my way here as quickly as I could. Luckily, we got here just in time."

I regard him now, irritation getting the better of me as I come to grips with just how unprepared I was for what happened. If I had known any of this, I could have taken the mutt out before he had a chance to hurt Haymitch or anyone else.

"You should have told me, Gale. You couldn't call, or write or send word or anything? If I had known I could have handled it myself."

"He called me, Katniss. That's why Haymitch and I were looking for you." Peeta has remained silent until now, allowing Gale to tell the story I needed to hear.

"He should have called me, Peeta. Not you. You're not responsible for me." I know Peeta understands my meaning, I can see the hurt in his eyes. But the comment seems to escape Gale's notice.

"I did try to call you – you weren't home. So I called him. Good thing, too. If he and Haymitch hadn't found you first, you'd probably be dead now." Never one to mince words, Gale's point only serves to incense me more.

"Are you insinuating that I wouldn't have even known my own father?! You have a lot of nerve, showing up here after all this time, and saying things like that." My voice is unsteady, and the fact that it's betraying me in this way just makes me angrier.

To his credit, Gale backs off immediately. "Of course not, Cat…Katniss. But that mutt was sophisticated. It was designed to get past your suspicions so it could get close enough to kill you."

"All the more reason to give us more than one hour's warning, Gale! You should have told us when you first found out about the lab, about the possibility."

Now he's getting frustrated. "We tried! Paylor tried to get Haymitch to come to the Capitol so she could brief him on what we knew days ago, which wasn't much, but would have been something. He never showed up. We couldn't trust the phones or mail because we had no way of knowing what was still secure and what had already been compromised."

My stomach lurches. Haymitch's trip. That was why they had summoned him. And he canceled it because of me. Because of the incident with Peeta.

"He didn't go because of me," I mumble to myself.

"No. He didn't go because of _me_." Peeta's words are laced with self-loathing. I've just handed him one more reason to blame himself for endangering me.

"What are you guys talking about?" Gale's interest is finally piqued. His arched eyebrow and glances between the two of us indicate he's now aware that there is more to Haymitch's lack of appearance than meets the eye.

I won't indulge him, though. Whatever may be wrong between Peeta and I, Gale certainly doesn't have the right to insert himself in my affairs. Not after all this time. Unfortunately, Peeta doesn't think like I do and responds first.

"Haymitch stayed because of me. He couldn't leave Katniss alone with me."

"Peeta! That is not true."

"Why not?" Gale's suddenly darker tone sets me off.

"This doesn't concern you, Gale! This is between us. You can't just walk in here after all this time, after disappearing for months, and expect to have any say in my life again."

"Disappeared? Is that what you think?" Gale's incredulity seems misplaced, in my opinion.

"Yes, disappeared! You abandoned me! First, Prim dies in one of your traps, then you never even bother to contact me or reach out to me. Yet you show up here at the eleventh hour, expecting me to welcome you back and treat you like some kind of hero for shooting a mutt who looked like my father, who you knew about but didn't bother to warn me about!" I'm shouting again, and at some point I've stood up from the table. The splash I feel on my hand tells me I'm crying now, too.

"Katniss, don't. You don't know everything…," Peeta starts to come to Gale's defense, but I'm too far gone to listen to anything he has to say.

"And you! You tricked me! You told me you'd always be here. You told me that you'd take care of me, and that I could trust you! Then you leave. Just because of one mistake, one moment I should have made different choices, you abandon me as well. You're no better than any of them!"

While Gale looks incensed, Peeta looks crushed. But I'm done. I run out the back door of the kitchen, tears streaming down my face, braid flying every which way as my feet pound the ground beneath them. I can't go to the forest, I can't go to the hovercraft. I'm terrified I'll lose Haymitch. I miss my dad, I miss my sister, I miss my life before I was reaped and everything, _everything_ changed. I miss the warmth of Peeta's arms around me, the softness and fullness of his lips on mine. I miss having a best friend, the ease with which Gale and I communicated, hunting in the woods, watching each other's backs. I miss Haymitch's teasing and snide remarks about my behavior. I miss everything.

* * *

"We need to go after her!"

"No, we don't."

He's kidding, right? "What are you talking about? She could be in danger! She might head into the woods."

He just looks at me, steadily. "She won't. She already considered that earlier."

How is he so confident? I wonder, silently, if I'll ever feel like I can predict her actions that easily. "What if there's another one out there? What if she's still in danger?"

"I'll find her. But not yet. What was that all about? You owe me an explanation, Mellark. And we're not leaving this house until you tell me what's going on. Why does she think you're abandoning her?"

I really don't want to get into this, but more importantly, I can't believe he's okay with just standing here while she roams around the district defenseless. She doesn't even have her bow with her.

"Gale, we can discuss this later. But the longer we stay here, the harder she'll be to find. I can't believe you're just standing here…"

"I put a tracker in her boot. Earlier, while she was sleeping. She won't be hard to find. Now answer me."

My jaw drops at this revelation. "You _what_?!"

This, at least, makes him pause in his interrogation of me. He looks the smallest bit sheepish as he confesses. "I thought she might bolt again – it's her default when things get…intense. I didn't want to risk losing her when all this came out. So, when I first came this afternoon and went up to check on her, I slipped a tracking devise into her boot."

For the first time all day, I grin.

"She is going to kick your ass when she finds out."

He shrugs, his own grin mirroring mine. "Probably try, anyway. But it's her own fault."

Our shared moment of conspiracy fades quickly, however.

"So, answer me. What's going on between you two?"

His protector persona is back in full force, and I self-consciously step to the side to put more furniture between us. If I could avoid this discussion, I would. But he's not going to let it go, and sooner or later he's going to find out.

"I had an episode. We were in the woods, alone. I, uh, I attacked her. It wasn't good."

I see his hands clench at his sides, but he restrains himself.

"I made Haymitch take care of her after it was over, and I decided to leave on the train this morning. For her own protection. I hadn't had an episode like that in months, not since the Capitol and our mission. I decided the best way to protect her was to leave. Then I got your call."

He looks down at the floor. His voice is quiet but clear. "Did you hurt her?"

I would give anything in the world to not have to answer that question. But I won't evade it, either. "Yes."

I can see and hear him exhale. Then, without warning, he overturns the kitchen table and charges at me. Gale is a good six inches taller than me, and clearly his military involvement has kept him in good shape. But my construction work and stocky build mean I'm no slouch either. And while he may have superior weapons ability, he didn't spend 3 years on the school wrestling team. Nor did he have older brothers. We're pretty evenly matched.

"I knew it! I knew this would happen!"

"Gale! You don't know anything! You haven't been here, and you definitely don't know me! I don't want to fight you, but you better back off!"

"I tried that already. Not gonna make that mistake again, Mellark!"

We hurl one another around the kitchen, knocking over chairs, banging into cabinets. I manage to use the freezer to knock him off his feet, but he recovers with a well-placed fist to my jaw, sending me backwards on wobbly legs. We're slamming each other into walls as we make our way down the hall toward the living room. Vaguely I hear a banging on the front door, and then see the two soldiers staring at us, unsure what to do.

"Commander?" one shouts, as Gale manages to throw me down on the coffee table in the living room, smashing it into pieces in the process.

"Stand down!" he shouts back. "I'll handle this!"

They don't move, but just watch as we roll on the floor, grunting and pelting each other with our fists.

"I won't let you near her again!" He tries to trap me in a head lock.

"That's not your decision, Hawthorne!" I push him back into the mantle over the fireplace, loosening his grip on me long enough to extricate myself while I punch him in the stomach.

We collide with a lamp on the end table, sending it shattering to the ground behind the sofa. I don't know how long we've been at it, but it becomes evident that neither of us is going to back down.

"I never abandoned her!"

"Neither did I!"

The sound of a gunshot reverberates through the room, and we both immediately let go of each other and turn toward the perpetrator.

"Knock it off!"

Haymitch stands there, a surly look on his face, holding the pistol of one of the soldiers in his hand, having just shot it into the floor in the corner of the room, apparently. I'm so relieved and happy to see him that I momentarily forget the brawl I've just been in and take a step toward him. "Haymitch!"

"Alright, dumbasses, that's enough. A man can't get stabbed in peace without you two idiots tearin' the damn house apart?"

Gale and I exchange looks of shame mixed with mutual aggravation.

"And somebody want to tell me what the hell you've done with the girl I spilled my guts out for this morning? You know, the one you're both supposedly protecting right now?"

* * *


	27. Vulnerabilities

At times, with everything that's happened, with all the good people who have come and gone, with the stakes being so damn high for what we were tryin' to accomplish, at times it's easy to forget that at the very heart of this were kids, two of whom I know pretty damn well. And two of whom were clearly in love with the same girl. Kids, all of them.

"They were supposed to notify me when you woke up." Tall and moody rubs his jaw with one hand while shaking his other wrist loose.

"Yeah, well, I figured a surprise appearance would be more entertaining. Seems I was right, again."

"How are you? Are you okay? We were worried about you." The kid's lip is bleeding, and his limp is definitely pronounced as he makes his way toward me. But the concern in his baby blues is genuine, and I have to fight back lettin' him see just how relieved I am to be standin' here with him.

"What? Ya think one little knife wound is gonna be enough to keep me from whuppin' both your butts if you keep pullin' this kinda crap? They're gonna have to send a lot more than one lousy mutt if they wanna get rid of me, kid. Now, where's sweetheart? Or did the two of you forget that you're supposed to be keepin' her safe, not redecoratin'?"

They both give me a sheepish look, like two brothers caught teasin' the family pet. 'Course, these two look like brothers about as much as Katniss and the littler one did. Looks or no, though, they sure as hell are actin' like 'em.

"Duncan, Everett, back to your post." Gale dismisses the soldiers, and I hand the gun back to the one I disarmed to break up the fist-a-cuffs.

"Might wanna keep a better eye on this, son." He grabs it from me with a scowl on his face, and I don't even try to stop the laugh that erupts. Only it's a hollow victory because of the pain in my side that sets in as a result.

The boy sees me grimace and put a hand to my side, and immediately comes to me. "Are you sure you should be up? Do you need to sit down?"

I glance around and shake my head at the destruction that surrounds us. "Well, now, that woulda been nice, if you two hadn't made kindling out every piece of furniture in here."

Military man moves to the kitchen and uprights the table single-handedly. Not to be outdone, the kid grabs three chairs and hoists them over the table to their respective spots. Boys.

"Show's over fellas. Quit tryin' to show off and tell me where the girl is."

The kid glares at soldier-boy, who whips out his radio. "Stevens. I need a location on the Mockingjay."

"Her signal is 1.2 miles due west of you, sir, heading farther in that direction."

"Thanks. Keep an eye on her and let me know if she approaches the district fence."

"Yes, sir."

"You put a tracker in her?" I am both impressed and pissed off at the same time.

"In her boot, actually. Just a precaution. But it paid off."

"And you two care to tell me why it was even necessary?"

They look at each other now, torn between wanting to make the other one look bad and not wanting to look like a fool themselves. The kid pipes up first.

"After she woke up, she didn't remember anything about this morning. She had blocked the whole thing out of her mind."

"Yeah, and when I showed up, it all came back to her in a rush. As if seeing me made it impossible for her to block it out any longer."

"She asked about you – she wanted to see you. But, we didn't know if…" the kid can't finish, but I know where he was goin'.

"Anyway, I explained to her what I'd already told Mellark. But she started gettin' angry that she hadn't been warned earlier."

"We, uh, we figured out that you cancelled your trip to the Capitol to stay and take care of her after the, um, the incident." The kid's guilt is palpable.

"When I started asking her what they were talkin' about, she went crazy. Yelled at me that I had abandoned her, had no place in her life now." He's obviously hurt and angry.

The kid looks at him at this last comment. "She didn't say that, Gale. She just said you couldn't make decisions for her now. And she was just as angry with me." He turns back to me. "She said I tricked her. That I deserted her and she didn't want to have anything to do with me."

Now it's soldier-boy's turn to set the record straight, though his tone is more accusation than reassurance. "She said she trusted you. That she didn't want you to leave."

A clearer picture of what's transpired while I've been out of it starts to form in my head. Based on what I'm hearing, I take the fact that the girl's not comatose on the floor of the closet as a good sign. The fact that she's taken off runnin', however, when more threats might be out there does not sit well with me, however.

"So, in the midst of her findin' and losin' her father again, seein' me bleedin' to death in front of her, losin' and then havin' her memories shoved back in her at the sight of the best friend she hasn't spoken to in almost a year, you two decide now is the best time to slug it out why, exactly?"

Neither seems eager to respond, so I decide to help them along.

"No, wait, lemme guess." I turn to soldier-boy. "You're pissed off because now that you've found out about his episode the other night you've decided sweetheart still needs you to protect her." He stares back at me, wordlessly protesting and confirming with the piercing look he sends my way.

I turn to the kid. "And you're mad because he had to come in and help us protect her. You're also feelin' guilty that you were all set to take off, especially 'cause it's finally occurred to you she may be better off with you than without you. Only now you don't really know where you stand with her, given recent events." He averts his eyes and nods.

I sigh, exasperated with the perfectly natural and predictable foolishness of youth. "Look, both of you. I may be old, but I'm not stupid. Neither is she. You wanna-bes have gotta figure out another way to work this out, 'cause she is gonna take both of you out with an arrow if you pull another stunt like this. And I'm just gonna use my bare hands before I let either of you put her through any more of this bullshit."

"She's already pissed at us – she thinks we both abandoned her. She stormed out of here because she's mad at both of us. But there's no way I'm leavin' him here with her when he's as big a threat to her as that mutt we took down this mornin'." Hothead is wavin' his hands around as he paces around the room.

My sides are screamin' in protest as I grab his shirt and forcibly remind him that he's still talkin' to and about victors. "Listen here, hotshot, don't you ever say that again. You hear me? You have no idea…none! So let me just be clear – he is not a threat to her."

"Haymitch…" I already know what lover boy is gonna say.

"And you!" I release hothead and turn my gaze to the kid. "She screwed up. What happened was just as much her fault as anybody's. Only you decided to take the easy way out and leave instead of doin' the harder work of stickin' around and takin' the risk. That's on you. And knowin' her the way you do, you knew the effect that decision would have on her."

Both of them glare down at the floor as what I've said sinks in. I look between them, satisfied that at least some of my message is gettin' through both their thick skulls. The radio crackles to life as we stand there, silent.

"Commander?"

"Go ahead."

"Her signal has stopped, sir. About 1.5 miles west and a bit south of your position."

"Got it. Establish a ½ mile perimeter but do not engage."

"Yes, sir."

"We need to bring her back. I don't think there are any more threats, but I don't know for certain," soldier-boy grumbles.

"We are not doin' any such thing. I'll get her."

"You don't know where she is."

"I know exactly where she is. Now get this place cleaned up so I have somewhere to bring her back to."

I walk out the kitchen door and head toward town. It's a bit risky, leavin' the two of them together. But if they're gonna go at each other again may as well get it over with now, I suppose.

I take my time walkin' to where I'll find her. Partly, I still hurt, a lot. The doctors did a good job patchin' me up, and I'm the first one to acknowledge that if it hadn't been for hothead and his hovercraft I never woulda survived that attack. But they don't have the same kind of techniques or equipment or medicines that victors had access to in the Capitol. So, while I should be completely recovered in a few days, there's definitely a lingering reminder from my encounter this morning as I make my way through town.

As I recall what happened this morning, I can't help but wonder how the girl is holdin' up under all this. It had already been a shitty week, but this was so unexpected, so sudden. I can only hope this doesn't set her back mentally and emotionally to the place she was when we first came back here together. Given where she's run off to, my concern isn't unwarranted.

I make my way through the Seam, aware of the gathering dusk. As I move farther from the center of town, the rebuilding progress is less and less visible. Many of these former homes are still just burned-out shells of what used to be the miners' shacks. It's been years since I had walked this path, but I still know it well, despite the devastation that now mars it.

I'm only vaguely aware of other people millin' about as I head to my destination. At one point I take note of the "perimeter" that soldier-boy ordered in place, seein' an armed soldier standing off to the side, looking around. He glances my way, but makes no move to intercept or follow me. Either Hawthorne radioed ahead or I'm not as menacing a presence as I used to be. I make a mental note to myself to ditch the babysitters once I've located the girl.

I'm not entirely sure what kind of state she'll be in when I reach her, so it's hard to know how best to handle the conversation. But I've always preferred wingin' it anyway.

I've been walking over half an hour, mullin' over what they told me on the hovercraft about what that was this mornin', then what the boys filled in about the rest of her day. I'm about twenty yards from where I'm confident she'll be when I stop, just staring at the remnants of what used to be.

Pieces of the old picket fence still lean haphazardly in front, looking like the first good breeze might topple them. The chimney is the tallest structure left, bricks crumbling from the top, with walls clinging tenaciously to either side. The other side of the house is gone, a gaping hole in its place. The front windows are missing most of their panes, the few remaining pieces of glass jagged and cracked. A shred of a curtain hangs on one side, burn marks visible along the ragged bottom edge that flutters out of the open window when stirred by an unseen wind. The entire second story is gone, as if it never existed in the first place. The front door hangs askew, and open wide enough for a smaller person to walk through. I make my way toward it, carefully dodging the debris littering the yard and the holes in the floorboards of the front porch and steps.

I push the door open a few more inches, trying to allow as much of the dwindling light inside as possible. The ceiling, for the most part, is still there, though to call it intact would be exaggerating. A couple of holes let light through, but mostly it looks as if it could collapse at any moment, and keeps the interior plenty dark. I stand in the doorway, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light around me, looking for any sign of the girl I've come to retrieve from her ruins.

"Sweetheart?" I call out softly, not wanting to spook her if she is here.

Movement in the corner near the fireplace catches my eye. She's crouched down, arms wrapped tightly around her knees in front of her, head rising tentatively to investigate the unexpected sound. Her hair falls around her face, and she looks so small and blends in so well with her ash-covered surroundings that I easily could have missed her. She looks at me, but doesn't move.

"Haymitch? Is that really you?" Barely audible, and so unsure of herself, I have to strain to hear her question. I swallow hard, refusing to let the ache in my heart at the emotion in her voice betray me. Given everything that's happened, it's no wonder she doesn't believe what's right in front of her now.

"Yea, sweetheart, it's really me."

As long as I've known this girl, through every circumstance, every hardship, every setback, I've always known her to act with purpose, to move with intent and strength. Now, I watch her slowly push herself up against the corner, tentatively take a few steps in my direction, and hesitate as she reaches out her hand to let her fingers lightly graze my arm, testing to see if I'm flesh and blood or a figment of her imagination. I fight back my own tears at her newfound vulnerability, after all this time, after all she's survived, and resolve to infuse her with whatever strength my own tired body can muster. I reach out for her, slowly, and pull her in to me, cradling her head with one hand, securely holding her to me with the other. I feel her small arms reach around me, light as willow wisps at first, then quickly grasping, clinging, as my shirt dampens with her tears. She shakes, her body wrenching with the release of the cries she's held inside until now, but she makes no sound. I stand still, holding her tight, stroking her hair, oblivious to the pain that results from her squeezing my midsection as if she thinks her grasp is what's keeping me in this world.

"I th-, thought," sniff, gulp, "I thought you…" She can't get the words out yet.

"Shhhh….it's alright, sweetheart. I'm right here. Seems you're stuck with me for a while longer."

She nods, not yet able to even smile at my weak attempt at humor. We stand, holding on to each other, for several more minutes. The light continues to fade, crickets begin their evening song, and the faint smell of smoke and charred wood become more prominent.

Finally, her tears subside as her body stills. She doesn't make any move to withdraw, and I chuckle softly to myself at the idea that she may have fallen asleep standing up against me. She raises her head at the resulting rumble in my chest, grey eyes looking up hurt and skeptical at me. I rush to cover my tracks.

"I was just thinking how those two idiots back at your house might get the wrong idea if they were to see us here now. Not sure I could take both of them at once in my current condition."

Her scowl doesn't entirely cover up the small smile my comment elicits. But she pulls away, and I can almost see her stifle her vulnerable feelings and cover them with the outer shell I've grown so accustomed to these years. I almost let myself acknowledge how much I miss the tender closeness we just indulged in. Almost.

"Wanna take a walk? I don't fancy tryin' to find a comfortable spot to sit in here." Mostly, I don't really want to stay in here with the ghosts from the past I know she was seeking.

She nods, taking one last look around her old home. I notice, now, that her face is streaked with ash and dirt, but her expression is returning to the mask she usually wears, so I refrain from making a move to wipe any of it away.

We leave the house together, but don't head back toward Victor's Village. Instead, I steer her in the opposite direction, toward the meadow. I figure the wide open space and fresh air will do us both some good. And there are still plenty of memories for her to recollect there, if she still needs them.

"How did you find me?" she asks as we walk.

Her question reminds me. I stop her with my hand on her arm, looking around the immediate vicinity. I don't see any signs of our shadows yet, but I do spy a great place to shake them. "Take off your boots."

"What?" She looks incredulous. An odd request, I'll grant you.

"Just trust me. Take 'em off."

She sits down in the path, pulling off her boots and handing them to me one at a time. It doesn't take long for me to shake the little device out of her second boot. I hold it up for her to see, then place it on the ground, stepping on it and grinding it to pieces. I hand her back her boot, and once she's got them on, quickly grab her hand and pull her into an old deserted barn about 15 yards away. I whisper to her an explanation as we crouch down in the shadows.

"Soldier-boy slipped a tracker into your boot earlier today, then ordered a babysitting squad to surround you. Watch."

Like clockwork, about 5 soldiers converge on the spot where I just crushed the tracking device. The glance around furtively for any sign of us, but don't venture into the any of the surrounding dilapidated buildings. One of them whips out his radio, obviously relaying the absence of their target. After hearing a response come through I am too far away to really make out, they all head back up the path toward town. As we wait a couple of minutes to give them a good head start in the opposite direction, I turn to look at the girl.

She looks furious, and I laugh genuinely for the first time all day, maybe all week.

"Don't be too hard on him – his intentions were good. And you gotta give him credit for anticipatin' that there might have been a need to track you." I chastise her gently, though I don't really mean it. Under the circumstances, I don't blame her one bit for takin' off.

We stand up and silently make our way out of the building, turning away from the direction our less-than-effective watchdogs went, and continue our stroll. I know it's a bit risky to dodge our protective detail, but I also know she needs some privacy right now. Besides, I think it's unlikely another attack would come so quickly after the first failed one this morning. If there are other potential threats, they'll want more time to regroup and strategize a more effective attempt.

"So, you're okay, then?" She's regained her full voice.

"Yea, I'm gonna be fine. The doctors sewed me up good."

She nods, then hesitates before continuing. "Thank you, for this morning. If you hadn't been there…"

"Just doin' my job, sweetheart, just doin' my job." We both know that's not the case, at least not anymore, but neither of us is good at this sentimental stuff.

She smirks in response. "No, you weren't, but thanks anyway."

We walk a bit farther, the meadow coming into view ahead of us. "So, anything you want to get off your chest?" While I'm relieved that she hasn't retreated into the recesses of her mind, I'm pretty sure she's grapplin' with some serious questions about now. And she doesn't even know yet about the boxing match on her behalf that I interrupted earlier.

She glances sideways at me before responding. "Gale explained about da-…about the mutt. I'm not sure it's all really sunk in yet, but what he said makes more sense than the idea that that thing really was my father. He never would have hurt you like that." It's hard to tell if she's trying to reassure me for my sake or hers.

I turn her to look at me. "Katniss, your dad was a great man. There is no way that thing today was anything but a Capitol-created monster. I'm sorry you had to see it, is all. Don't let this morning taint any of the memories you have of Burt. He loved you girls more than life itself."

I've never talked with her about her father before – didn't really see the need. But I want to make sure this aberration from this morning doesn't in any way diminish the memory she has of my friend.

She nods, swallowing back the tears that grace the corners of her eyes once more. "I know," she manages to choke out.

I nod once, in acknowledgement, and we continue on. When we reach the meadow, we stop, looking around.

"I haven't been here since that night you brought me out of the forest."

I raise my eyebrow at her, but then remember what the kid told me this morning, and the fact that she came marchin' into town from the opposite direction. I don't say anything, waitin' for her to say whatever she needs to. It takes a few minutes, but eventually she gets it out.

"Sometimes I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish I could just go back to before that day, before everything changed for us, for me."

She may not be the one gifted with words, but that doesn't mean that there aren't times she gets right to the heart of the matter with amazing accuracy and feeling. We've accomplished so much – no more hunger games, no more Snow, no replacement lunatic in Coin, a free Panem. It's not perfect, but it's so much better. And yet, for her, and maybe even for a few of us, the price paid has been so high. I know how she feels. I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't have that same feelin' at times in my life – the wistful wish that time would turn back, returning all that I've lost, reuniting me with all the people I've cared about. I know how she feels. I also know that as much as it hurts, it's still been worth it. Too many people are better off now for us not to have made these sacrifices.

"Yea, I hear ya. And it's tempting to think that, sure." I decide to nudge her in the direction she'll end up in anyway. "But then, you wouldn't have what you do with bread boy, would you? That's gotta be worth somethin'."

She snorts. "We don't have anything – not anymore, anyway. He's leaving, remember?"

I nod my head, "Yeah, well, he's still here, isn't he? And nobody's perfect."

"Perfect?! Ha! He's so far from perfect he makes Gale look like a prince."

That's unexpected. I raise my eyebrow at her. "Are you sayin'…?"

"NO! I'm not saying anything, Haymitch. I'm so mad at both of them I can't see straight. And I do not want to deal with them. I think it's best if they just both leave."

It's reassuring to see the spitfire returning, but I also know her typical avoidance mode isn't going to cut it this time. Especially since the two of them are probably still at her house, waitin' for her to get back and resolve all this. Either that or formin' up search parties for us.

"Look, sweetheart. You know I don't like to get involved in your personal affairs." She looks at me, calling me out. "Ok, ok, maybe I like to get involved a bit. But even you have to know you can't just ignore this, or them. You're gonna have to talk to them."

She crosses her arm and kicks at the ground, once more the defiant child refusing to do something she doesn't want to do.

"You know they were tearin' up your place when I got back. Damn near had to shoot 'em to get 'em to stop bustin' up your furniture."

Her mouth hangs open as she listens to what I'm saying. Sometimes I forget just how oblivious she can be to these kinds of things.

"Yea, doll, they were fightin', over you. They both care about you that much. But that's never been a secret, and frankly, I'm amazed it took this long for them to come to blows. What I wanna know is, how much do you care about each of them? Because let's face it, havin' two boys care enough about you to kill each other isn't necessarily the worst problem you could have."

"What?! Care about them? I don't…I mean…Haymitch, I don't care about Gale that way."

I nod again. "I figured. But he clearly doesn't know that, or doesn't wanna know that. And what about the kid? You tossin' him out just 'cause he messed up?"

It's more than just a bit amusing to see how she instantly comes to his defense. "The episode wasn't his fault! You can't blame…"

"I didn't say that was what he messed up. We both know what happened in the meadow could have been prevented. I'm talkin' about the misguided decision he made later, to protect you."

She glowers now, reminded of how mad she's been at him over his decision to leave her. "I won't stop him from leaving, Haymitch. He made that choice."

"Yea, but do you want him to go?"

She looks away, toward the woods. I know she doesn't want to admit it. I know she's hurt and angry. But I also know she's gotta face this.

"Well, you're gonna have to figure that out. I'm not sayin' you don't have a right to be mad with him. But I am sayin' you gotta talk with him. Don't make one mistake after another that you'll both regret later."

She sighs now, a defeated, resigned sigh that tells me she knows I'm right. "When did you start caring so much about what happens with us, hmmmm? I thought you were 'just a mentor'?" She's teasing, but I don't mind. It tells me that she's already found some of her inner strength again, that she's going to come out of this okay.

"Who said anything about caring? I just want my peace and quiet back. You do whatever the hell you want with the boys, darlin'. Just quit interruptin' my beauty sleep with all these crises, will ya?"

She laughs a little, and it soothes my soul. She links her arm through mine, and starts walking us through the meadow, back toward town.

It's dark now, and the first stars twinkle above us. It's been a long day, and my pace is definitely slow. She doesn't seem to mind, however, and I speculate it's because she prefers to put off the inevitable conversations awaiting her back at the house.

"Do you think there are more? Mutts, I mean?"

"Don't know. S'pose there might be. Probably best if hothead and his gang hang around for a few days just in case."

"Hothead? You mean Gale? No, I want him out of here as soon as possible."

"Well, that may be, but you got a better idea? Baker boy and I aren't exactly invincible, ya' know. Not sure how we'd take down another one of those things if it showed up and they weren't here."

"I can handle it. Now that I know about the threat, I can take care of it."

I stop her now, everything about me trying to convey the seriousness of this threat. "No, Katniss, you can't. You may be a good shot with a bow, but that doesn't guarantee your safety, especially with these things. Don't be stupid."

She bristles at the insult, but I'm not kidding around. Pride or no pride, history or no history, love triangle or not, she needs to accept that she is safer while he's here than without him.

"I can take care of my…."

"I'm not foolin' around here. He stays, at least for a while. End of discussion."

"You don't get to decide!"

"Yea, sweetheart, I do. You may not remember, but the court appointed me your legal guardian when we came back here. And as such, I do get to decide."

"You wouldn't…."

"Wouldn't? No. Already have."

I'm tremendously pleased she is not armed right now. I try to soften the blow.

"Look, sweetheart, it's not worth it. It's not worth the risk. They should know something within the week about whether or not there are more of these things crawlin' around out there. But I'm not willin' to take a chance that you're still in danger, or hell, that the kid or I are still in danger either. We need the back-up."

She softens a bit at the suggestion that she may not be the only target. She's clearly not happy about the prospect of Hawthorne hanging around, though.

"Well, he can't stay with me."

I laugh out loud at that. "No, I don't s'pose that would be a good idea. Might be fun to bunk him and the kid together for a week, though. Any bets on who would come out the victor in that arena?"

She smirks at the thought. "Actually, I was thinking he should stay with you."

I start walking away. "Sorry, darlin'. I only do sleepovers with the opposite sex."

"Like Effie?"

She's teasin' again, another reassuring sign. I choose to ignore it, of course. We're comin' up on the town square, now, and even though it's dark, there are a few streetlamps to light up our way.

"Looks like we might have a bakery soon. That is, if we have a baker."

She doesn't respond, but looks over at the bakery/café, a serious façade taking over her expression once more. She slows, eventually coming to a stop, so I walk back to where she stands.

She looks at me, imploring, softly giving voice to her true fear. "What if it happens again, Haymitch? What if I can't stop him, or if he can't stop himself next time?"

I know what she's talkin' about. This last episode was way too close for comfort for all of us, the kid most of all. I'm really not sure what to tell her.

"I don't know, sweetheart. I can't believe he'd ever see it through, not how he is now. But I don't think we can ever completely get rid of all the possible triggers, or prevent any more episodes. All we can do is try to learn from what happened and do the best we can to avoid it happening again."

I put my arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her. "Come on, we best get back before they send out the search parties."

"Hmmmph." For someone who's been the center of attention for the last few years, she still rankles at anyone making a fuss over her. It's one of the things I find most endearing about her, well, at least most of the time. She's true Seam, through and through.

As we make our way back to Victor's Village, we can see the hovercraft off in the distance, in a field near the train tracks. I don't see anyone outside it, though, and suspect that means they're all off on another mission. I try not to let any anxiety that thought brings show.

But as we crest the hill and come into view of our houses, I relax and even let a grin creep up on my face. The commotion outside her house is reminiscent of the drills they used to run in Thirteen. Her front lawn is swarming with soldiers, all gathered in small groups. People are hastily making their way in and out of the house, and I see soldier-boy barking orders at a few of his minions, while Peeta paces back and forth stormily on the porch. Many of them are checking flashlights or inspecting their firearms. Clearly, they have decided we aren't coming back and need to be retrieved.

I turn to the girl, whose face is now lined with such a deep frown it almost looks comical. I'm just glad I'm not the one in her sights right now.

"Well, looks like the party started without us, sweetheart. I'll just leave you to it, then."

I bow out and watch her march deliberately and with renewed irritation straight toward her unsuspecting target. Several of the soldiers in the front of the yard farthest from Hawthorne see her coming, and smartly give her a wide berth.

"Gale! What do you think you're doing?! Get these people off my lawn and out of my house!"


	28. Resolution

I'm glaring at Gale, waiting for him to get these people out of my yard, when Peeta pushes past him and takes me in his arms.

"Katniss! Are you alright? Where have you been?" The concern in his voice is evident, but doesn't erase the hurt I've felt all week, the uncertainty I still feel about where we are at this point. I pull back from him, getting a good look at his face. He has the beginnings of a black eye, his lip is cut and swollen, and his hair looks as if he may have pulled significant chunks of it out since this morning.

"I'm fine, Peeta."

"I was so worried. We were just about to come out and look for you. When your tracker signal died…"

This renews my displeasure, and I shoot Gale a look that warns him we'll be having words about that stunt. But right now, I need all of these people to disappear, and I need Peeta to go home.

"I'm fine, really. And right now I just need you to go home. I need to talk to Gale."

He looks at me with a mixture of anger and sadness that melts my cold fury just a bit. I reach for his hand, the sum total of reassurance I can offer right now. "Please, Peeta. I know we need to talk as well, but I need to talk to Gale first."

He looks over his shoulder at Gale now, then turns back to me, a wary look in his eyes.

"Katniss, I really…"

"Peeta, not now. I will come find you later." I let go of his hand, and he draws back, a little guilty, but also irritated, and stomps off across the street toward his house. I'll deal with all that later.

I turn my full attention to Gale now, hands on my hips, no room for misinterpretation in my scowl. Gale matches my unfriendly look with one of his own. It occurs to me he might be embarrassed to have me order him around in front of his troops, but I am beyond caring. I simply wait for him to do what I've asked, or ordered, actually.

Without breaking eye contact, Gale calls out, "Polson! Assign two guards to the house and reinstate the roaming patrols. Take everyone else back to the hovercraft."

"Yes, sir!"

As Polson starts barking orders at the others, I make my way past Gale, up the steps and into the house. I don't turn around to see if he's following me – he'll be in soon enough. I head into the kitchen and get myself a glass of water. When I turn around, he's there, watching me, lips in a tight line. He's got a bruised jaw, and a few cuts on his hands near his knuckles. His eyes are narrow, expressing without words his displeasure at my behavior. But unlike this afternoon, I now detect the underlying softness that I had grown accustomed to in our youth.

"We need to talk," I tell him.

"No kidding," he scoffs. "I'm not the one who ran out of here earlier."

"Maybe I wouldn't have run out of here if it hadn't been because of the way you were acting. Speaking of which, a tracker, Gale? I can't believe you would ever do that, especially to me."

He doesn't even have the decency to look contrite. "I would do it again, too. You don't think, Katniss! You just took off, not even considering the possibility that you might still be in danger. So yeah, I took the precaution betting that you'd do exactly what you did."

"It's not your place, Gale! For someone who despised the Capitol for so long, I can't believe you're already acting like them."

The scowl on his face tells me I hit home with that comment, as he stands there fuming at me. I push past him to make my way to the living room – I need more space than the kitchen can provide right now.

When I first came in I hadn't noticed the state of the living room, but it stops me in my tracks now. My coffee table is gone, a few chunks of wood scattered in the middle of the room where it used to be. A lamp is missing, and there's a crack and dent in one of the walls. The rest of furniture has clearly been "put back" by someone not familiar with the arrangement or not paying much attention to what they were doing.

I turn to look at him again. "Dammit, Gale! What happened with you two? How far did this fight actually get?"

He shrugs dismissively and surveys the room himself. "We were pretty worked up."

I roll my eyes and make my way over to the sofa, sitting down in a huff. "Peeta doesn't get worked up like this, Gale. You do. You started this, didn't you?"

He glares at me defensively, providing all of the answer I need. "He tried to hurt you again. What did you expect me to do?"

"How about asking me about it? Or getting all the information before you jump to conclusions and just throw punches? You haven't changed, Gale. You always resorted to fighting first. You have no idea what happened, and frankly, it's none of your business anyway."

"If my friend is in trouble, I make it my business." His tone is hard and unyielding, and the presumption laced in his words sets me off.

"Friends don't abandon each other," I spit back.

His tone softens as he takes a seat across the room. "I never abandoned you, Katniss."

I look at him now, trying to sort out all the feelings his presence churns up for me. While I can't deny that there is a small part of me that is happy to finally see my best friend again, that feeling is almost buried by a confusion of more negative, unsettling emotions. I am angry with him. Angry that he designed such a heinous weapon that ultimately resulted in my sister's death. Angry that he hasn't been here for me, hasn't even checked on me, since that fateful day. Angry that he just strolled back in here, expecting me to welcome him and trying to assert control in my life after having left such an enormous void in it for all this time.

But amidst all the anger, there's also regret – for a friendship lost, for a distance that never existed before, in acknowledgement that perhaps there was always more to his side of our relationship than I was able or willing to see. And there's hurt, over feeling discarded. Add to that irritation that he seems to think he still has a role in saying what's best for me, what I need, who I should be with. But finally, there's concern, concern that my oldest, dearest friend is, in his own way, as lost as I have been. As much as I don't want to deal with Gale, Peeta, and my relationships with each of them, I know Haymitch is right. I have to resolve this for my own sake and sanity.

"Why haven't I heard from you? Why did you leave me?" I'm hoping the accusation in my voice is hiding the hurt that lies beneath it.

He startles at my question. Clearly, he's surprised by it. He frowns in consternation again.

"You don't remember, do you?"

I look at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

He clasps his hands together, leans forward in his seat, and looks at the floor. "I did come, Catnip. I came here right after they sent you back here."

I have no memory of this, so I don't say anything, waiting for him to continue.

"I came because I wanted to tell you….I needed to tell you….I had to make sure you knew that I had nothing to do with Prim being there that day. I would never have hurt her! And if I'd known, I would have done everything to keep her safe! You have to know that." His voice breaks slightly, and the last part comes out as mostly an urgent, hoarse whisper.

His words are urgent and desperate and forlorn. I see his eyes cloud as he fights the tears that threaten to spill. The wound inside me that is still my sister's daily presence in my life sears my heart, but as I look at him, forcing myself not to turn away, I can see the same wound in him. Clearly, he's been agonizing over her death as well.

I choose my words carefully, and with as much sincerity as I can muster right now. "I do know that, Gale." It's the most I can offer. I can't forgive him, not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. But I also know that he would have done anything in his power to keep her safe, just as he always had.

He nods, settling himself by wiping his face with both hands. Already he sits a little taller, lighter, as if my words have lifted the invisible weight off his shoulders.

"When I was here the first time, though, I tried to tell you then. But you weren't yourself, you weren't…" he stumbles for words, and I instinctively know what he's trying to say.

"No, I wasn't in a good place for a while."

He looks at me, nothing but concern in his eyes. "You, uh, you didn't respond to me at first. But then, well, you just sorta snapped. You started screaming and hitting me, and…if Sae hadn't been here I'm not sure what would have happened."

Even as he describes what occurred, I am still unable to resurrect any memory of his having been here.

"So you came here, and we actually talked?"

"Well, I tried to talk. You were pretty out of it. I'd never seen you like that, and it scared me. It was even worse than when we were in Thirteen, while Mellark was still captured. You just….it was like you didn't even know me. And then, when you finally recognized me, you just…you were so angry…so upset. You wouldn't calm down until I left – never said one word to me. Just screamed and sobbed. It broke my heart, Catnip, seeing you like that. I mean, why else do you think I told him to come back here?"

I do a double take. "What? Told who to come back here?"

He looks at me, furious. "He never told you?"

"Who, Gale?!"

"Mellark – baker boy. I left here and went to see him in the Capitol. I told him about you, that he needed to come back here and see you."

I look at him dumbstruck.

He laughs, a mirthless, sarcastic laugh. "He never told you, did he? It damn near killed me to do that. To tell him that you needed him, not me. That he had to come back here and help you because I couldn't. But I did it, because I couldn't stand to see you like that. And obviously I wasn't going to be able to help you. But he never even told you. Figures."

He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest, shaking his head, just watching me. I don't know how to take this latest revelation. Not only that the best friend I thought had completely walked out of my life had actually been here, but that he had gone so far as to try to help me by urging Peeta to return. In the midst of my shock, anger and confusion, I sense another feeling I can't quite explain. I look at Gale, and the bitterness and blame I've been harboring for him all this time fade just enough for me to realize that I feel something else toward him now as well. I feel grateful. We may never be the way we were before, but at least now I know that he didn't just vanish, that he still cared about me and had made an effort to see me.

"Thank you," I tell him. I wait, to see if he needs more. But he doesn't. He just nods curtly, as we seem to have retained at least some of our ability to communicate without words or explanation.

"You're still my best friend, Catnip. I can't stop thinking of you that way. And I won't stop worrying about you."

I sigh now, knowing that at least part of me had stopped thinking of him that way. I also know he's moving us to the part of the conversation he wants dealt with – my relationship with Peeta. I take another sip of my water, trying to both buy time and calm myself. I don't want to argue with him about this if I can help it. But I also can't give him the answers I sense he is seeking.

"Gale…"

But he cuts me off. "Look, obviously you're doing a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you. And I'm not stupid – I know he had something to do with that. But you can't just ignore the threat he represents either. He didn't tell me much, but he told me enough to know that he hurt you, and it was pretty bad. I've seen what that looks like, and I don't like it. And obviously you feel the same way or you wouldn't be this mad at him."

I force myself to mentally count to five before answering him.

"Gale, I am not going to discuss what I do and do not feel for Peeta with you. I'm sorry, but that's between him and me. And as for him being a threat, he's not." He starts to interrupt to protest, but this time I cut him off. "Look, I know what happened, I was there. But it wasn't his fault, it was mine, okay? I just need to be smarter about things, that's all. It won't happen again."

"You don't know that. You're just protecting him."

"I do know that, actually. Because I know now what signs to look for and what choices to make. I appreciate your concern, but this is between us."

He doesn't respond right away, looking off, debating with himself. I remember his ways well enough to know that he's deciding whether or not to keep arguing his point. While part of me is touched by his lingering protectiveness, mostly I resent his efforts to come here after all this time and try to tell me what I need to do. I'm not the same person I was when we were hunting partners and I relied on him to have my back and even help us survive.

"You don't need to have my back anymore, Gale. I can take care of myself now."

He looks up, doubtful. "Didn't seem that way this morning when I got here."

That stings. I know he's referring to the way I was when the mutt was here, and maybe even afterward, before my memories came back. But still, he doesn't have the right to throw that in my face right now.

"Well excuse me. I suppose you would have been perfectly unaffected if your dad had shown up trying to kill you."

A few minutes ago I would have felt remorse at saying something so hurtful to him. But right now I'm just angry all over again at his arrogance.

He grimaces in response to my snide remark, but then his face softens and he shakes his head ruefully. "No, Katniss, I wouldn't have. I'm just worried about you, okay? Is that so hard to believe, or to accept?"

I bite back the acerbic remark at the tip of my tongue. His effort to be genuine and not escalate the conversation any more merits my attempt at restraint. The years we spent as inseparable allies deserve less acrimony and more patience, I remind myself.

"No, it's not. And I appreciate your concern. But we aren't who we were before, as much as we might both miss that." And it's true – I do miss it. But I am painfully aware that it will never be the same again. I don't know exactly what kind of friendship, if any, we'll be able to resurrect after everything that has transpired between us.

He looks at me keenly, "No, I suppose we aren't." We sit, just seeing each other fully for the first time. Then, his countenance seems to change. He leans forward and to one side, his left forearm on his knee, his right hand on his hip, and a small twist of a grin plays at the corner of his mouth. "Nice to know I'm not the only one who misses us, though."

My cheeks flush a bit and I look down, shaking my head at his impertinence and trying to hide the slight smile that's threatening my own lips now.

"So, you're gonna stay with him, aren't you?"

Now it's my turn to look off into nowhere, questions and thoughts bombarding my mind in response to his loaded question.

"I don't know what's going to happen, really." I hadn't planned on being this open with him, and the comment just sort of escapes me before I realize it. But I'm beginning to sense how much I've missed having a friend, just someone I can talk to about things. He used to be that for me.

He looks at me carefully, probably surprised by my reply. "Well, if there's anything I can do, Catnip…"

I nod, shaking myself back to the present and out of my internal world of what-if's. It's getting late, but I know I shouldn't let Peeta wait all night. I stand up, heading to the kitchen and already starting to steel myself for what will undoubtedly be the harder of these two conversations. Gale follows me.

"So, we'll be around at least for a few days. We're waiting on Beetee to let us know if it looks like there are any more mutts out there."

"Okay. Though you really don't need to – now that we know what's going on we can handle it if anyone else shows up unexpectedly."

He chuckles, "Let's not rehash that anymore, huh? We're staying until we get the all-clear – Paylor's orders anyway."

"Fine."

"So, maybe if you have time, I mean, if you'd be interested…Well, it sure would be nice to do a little hunting again. If you think you're up for it, that is," he teases, with a smirk plastering his face.

I don't know exactly where Gale and I will land in all this, but the idea of hunting with him again is tempting. And he is being cooperative about things, at least for the time being. "Sure, I'm always up for showing you up with a bow, Hawthorne."

He chuckles more loudly this time, the relief and happiness radiating to his eyes now. "Sounds good. Tomorrow?"

I hesitate. As much as I would like to say yes, I'm leery that my night is far from over with the conversation that awaits me across the street. "We'll see. I have something I have to do tonight, and it's already pretty late. But maybe later tomorrow."

His smile fades a bit, but he just nods in response. "Alright. Goodnight, Catnip."

"Goodnight, Gale."

He turns and walks silently out of the house, pulling the door closed behind him. I wash my glass, then catch my reflection in the window above the sink. My hair is messy, and I look tired. I quickly re-braid my unkempt locks, but then have to stop myself from taking a cool cloth to my face. I shrug in disgust as I realize I don't want to care about how I look when I go talk with him. It's been a long, hard day, an even longer week, and whether my hair is messy or my face fresh is just so irrelevant that I'm immediately irritated with myself for even noticing. I deliberately pull a few strands of hair out of my newly affixed braid and stomp toward the front door.

Apparently, guard duty is not just for my house, but for me. As I walk past the soldiers still planted on my front porch, they get up and begin to follow behind me. I turn on my heels.

"What are you doing?"

"Orders, ma'am. We're to accompany you if you leave the house."

I sigh in exasperation. "I am going across the street. You can watch me from here."

"Sorry, ma'am. Commander Hawthorne was very specific, and said everywhere you go, especially across the street."

In my head, I see Gale laughing at my consternation. Through clenched teeth I say, "The street then. But if you so much as set one foot inside that house while I'm in there I will personally shoot an arrow through your eye." The two soldiers look horrified, clearly taking me at my word. Having made myself clear, I proceed to Peeta's house.

I pause at his front door, not sure whether I should knock or just let myself in, so I just do both at the same time, rapping lightly on the door as I open it. The rooms are dimly lit, but I don't see any sign of him. I had thought perhaps he might be baking, as I know he sometimes does when trying to work out frustration. But the kitchen is eerily still, and no pleasing aromas waft toward me as I scan the house for his presence.

"Peeta?" I call out, but get no response.

I head upstairs. Maybe he fell asleep, exhausted from the day's events. But his bed is empty, the rumpled sheets and blankets uncharacteristic for him, and a clear indication of the past week's effect on his psyche. I walk down the hall to the art room, and push the door open. The sight before me breaks my heart. The room is destroyed – paintings, brushes, papers, paints strewn everywhere. Many canvases have been torn, or rather ripped, apart. Colorful smatters of paint cover the floor, the walls, even the window. He desecrated this room, his sanctuary, his oasis. And in the process he ruined so many images, so much of his hard work and creativity. I fight back the tears as I'm unable to turn away from the sorrow that radiates from the shambles surrounding me.

My eyes wander to a relatively unscathed pile of paintings off to one side, haphazardly tossed together, but not shredded and torn like the others. They are all of me, a visual representation of our relationship over time, starting with images from before we were even reaped, including one of a small girl in a red dress and two braids. The latest visage in this painted chronology is one from only a week or two ago – me, sitting at Peeta's kitchen table eating, no relishing, one of his cheese buns, a look of pure bliss staring back at me from the canvas in my hands.

I'm still standing there, eyes locked on what seems such a distant past, when he intrudes on my reverie.

"I didn't think you'd come."

I return the painting to its place on top of the heap and turn to face him before answering, "I said I would, didn't I?"

He shrugs, his hands in his pockets, his gaze focused downward, his entire stance screaming defensiveness and uncertainty. Seeing him like this almost makes me forget how mad I am at him.

"Why didn't you tell me? About Gale?"

He frowns. "What did he say?"

"Mostly that he wasn't surprised that you didn't tell me he came to see you, told you to come back here. Is that why you came? Because he asked you to?"

"No, of course not! I mean, yes, partly. But…I came because I wanted to, not just because of what he said. This is my home, too, Katniss. And, well, I wanted to be near you."

"Then why didn't you ever tell me?" I'm hurt. I'm not used to Peeta keeping secrets from me. I want to understand, but lately it seems that all I find are reasons not to trust him.

"I didn't know how. When I first came back, you were having such a hard time. I didn't want to bring him up because he told me about how you reacted to his visit. I was afraid it would make it harder for you to get better."

I don't respond, waiting for him to continue. He clasps his hands behind his neck and rocks back and forth on his feet a bit.

"After a while, when you were better, and things with us were going well….I guess, well, I guess I just didn't want to bring it up then because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

He looks at me now, asking me with his eyes to understand. "I was afraid of losing you. I was worried that if I told you that he still cared, that he was still calling to ask about you, that you might want to be with him more than you wanted to be with me."

"He called you about me?"

Peeta looks surprised by my question. "Um, yeah. He didn't tell you?"

I shake my head, frowning. I'm getting really tired of being surprised.

"No, he only told me he came to see me, when I first got back."

"Oh. Well, uh, yeah, he called me once a few weeks ago, to ask how you were, if I'd talked with you about him yet."

"You should have told me."

I looks down again, putting his hands back in his pockets. "I know. I'm sorry."

There's an awkward silence, one I haven't experienced for weeks. Ever since Peeta and I started growing closer, these periods of not knowing how to talk to each other had all but disappeared. But now, the chasm between us feels almost too big to bridge. I look around nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

"When did all this happen?" I ask, sweeping my arm around the room.

He leans against the door frame, looking around at the destruction of his outlet, his passion. "That night, after I left you with Haymitch. I just…I couldn't stand to have all these false images in my house as well as my head. I guess I got carried away."

"Yes, you did." My tone conveys that I am not just talking about the art room. From my perspective, he got carried away about the entire incident, overreacting and making rash decisions – so unlike him it was practically impossible to believe it was happening.

He runs his hand through his hair, turning sideways in the doorway now.

"You have no idea what it was like…I came out of it in that meadow, and…you were just lying there…Katniss, I almost killed you! I would never be able to live with myself. I mean, Gale's right. I am a threat to you. I can't take that risk."

I take a step toward him, but hold myself back from going any closer. We have to have this out, and I need him to hear what I'm saying.

"Peeta, listen to me. What happened that night was not your fault. It was more mine, but I'll even concede that it wasn't really either of our faults. What's more important is that you didn't see it through. You stopped yourself, no one else was there to. You did that. You keep glossing over that part of it as if it's no big deal, but it's everything. You were able to pull yourself out of the episode. And other than a few bruises, I'm no worse off for it."

He's shaking his head, not wanting to accept the exoneration I'm forcing upon him.

"Yes, Peeta, it's true. You may have attacked me that night, but you also saved me, and I refuse to let you forget or ignore that. Look, you're going to have these episodes – we both know that. But there are things we can do, choices I can make, to make sure what happened that night doesn't happen again."

He dismisses what I'm saying. "Katniss, you could not have stopped me from having that episode."

"I know that. But I could have been smarter and fled instead of trying to stay with you. I could have climbed a tree – you never would have been able to reach me up there. I could have knocked you out, the way Haymitch did that time at the bakery. I let my guard down, even after I knew you were slipping away. I should have known better."

Now he's flustered, gesturing with his hands as he talks. "This wasn't your fault! You can't blame yourself for me attacking you!" He's not yelling, but his words are stern, insistent.

I soften mine in response. "I don't blame myself, Peeta. And I don't blame you, either. At least not for attacking me. That's not why I'm mad at you, and you know it."

"What did you expect me to do? Just pretend everything was normal? That you aren't in any danger around me? Just stay here until the next tracker jacker flies by and another opportunity to strangle you presents itself?"

He doesn't wear sarcasm well, and my ire rises once more.

"No! Of course not! But I did expect you to talk to me! I did expect you to act as if you cared about me – to stick around and not desert me like everyone else! How can I trust you if you won't even talk to me? If you abandon me whenever there's a problem?"

"I didn't abandon you! I decided to leave to protect you! I love you Katniss! Don't you get it?! I didn't want to risk staying here and hurting you again because I love you, dammit! I love you so much that the only thing I could think to do to keep you safe was to keep you away from me."

My mind gets stuck on those three words, not really hearing what else he's saying. "You love me?" I ask him.

He softens at my incredulity, grinning shyly at me before saying, "Of course I love you, Katniss. I've loved you for a long, long time."

His words startle me. He's never said that to me before. I suppose I've had an inkling that was how he felt, but to have him say it out loud is disarming, to say the least. My intention to continue arguing with him to show him the error of his ways this past week wanes considerably in light of this admission. Peeta, however, confuses my silence with what he assumes is an aversion to his revelation.

"Look, Katniss, I know how I feel about you, but that doesn't mean I expect you to feel the same right now, especially after what happened. I just want you to know that my decision to leave was only because I thought…."

He doesn't get a chance to finish that thought because before I can think about what I'm doing I fling myself at him, an impetuous move motivated solely by the overwhelming sense of joy that has taken my breath away. As I link my arms around his neck and pull myself into him, I feel him falter backwards a step or two, but then circle my waist with his arms. The tears are starting, but I manage to get out a few words before they incapacitate me.

"You can't leave! I don't want to be here without you! I need you, Peeta. Please, don't leave me. Stay here."

He squeezes me in response, and I feel one of his hands in my hair, cupping my head to his neck. "Okay, okay. I'm here. I'm so sorry, Katniss. I promise, I won't leave. Oh, babe, I've missed you so much!"

Babe?

I pull back to look at him, laughing a little at the term of endearment, even though I'm still crying. "Babe?"

He laughs. "Sorry, it just came out. I won't call you that if you don't like it."

I pull us back together, curling some of his hair in my fingers now. "It's okay, actually. I think I like it."

We stand there for a few minutes, just holding one another, reassuring each other that we're both still here. I've missed his warmth, the pressure of his arms on mine, the hardness of his back and chest, the feel of his breath on my neck or ear. It feels so good just to be physically connected to him again that I don't want to move from this place.

Eventually we relax our hold on one another and allow air back in between us. He holds my hands with his, looking at me intently. As happy as I am that we've made it through this issue, I know I need to ask him something before a gnawing feeling of distrust that I don't like takes root in me.

"Peeta, are there any other secrets I need to know? Anything else you've been hiding from me?"

He quickly puts his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them to emphasize his point. "No, I swear, Katniss. I've never kept anything from you except Gale's contact. I'm sorry, again. I seem to be saying that a lot tonight. But I mean it. I should have told you."

I sigh. "Yes, you should have. He was my best friend, Peeta. But," I pause, taking a deep breath before I continue, "I can understand why you wouldn't have said anything." His shoulders visibly sag in relief as I say this.

"But no more! I'm tired of being surprised and I don't want any secrets between us!"

"Definitely. I promise. No more secrets. In fact, I'm really kind of relieved I don't have to worry about this one anymore. I'm usually pretty bad at keeping them anyway."

I laugh, "I don't know about that, Mellark. You managed to keep the fact that you had a crush on me a secret for 11 years apparently."

He grins now. "Well, there is that, I suppose. But I don't think that counts. I was only 5 at the time."

I push some of his hair back behind his ear with my fingers. He grabs my wrist with his hand and pulls it to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the sensitive side. I softly ghost my fingertips over the bruise around his eye, frowning at the pain I know the purplish skin must be causing.

"I can't believe you got into a fight with him."

"Well, I think we were both mostly frustrated with you, but you weren't around, so…" he grins impishly.

I scowl. "Don't try to pin that immature boy behavior on me, Peeta Mellark. I've seen the mess you made of my house. You two must have really been going at it."

He chuckles a bit. "Yeah, I guess we were. It actually reminded me a little of my brothers. Until Haymitch showed up and shot the gun at us."

My eyes go wide and I gape at his statement, causing him to laugh even more.

"Not exactly at us, I suppose. But it took a shot being fired to get us to stop."

I frown, now worried about Peeta's and Gale's ability to coexist peacefully until it's time for Gale to leave. "No more fighting, alright?"

Now Peeta's brow crinkles slightly. "So he's sticking around, huh?"

"For a few more days, I guess. Until they find out if there are any more of those mutts lurking around."

His furrowed brow immediately deepens. "Are you okay? We never really had a chance to talk about what happened."

I take his hand in mine and head toward the door, suddenly feeling like being in a room full of painted memories is stifling. "Yea, I'm alright. I was pretty upset when I left earlier – just overwhelmed with everything. But I'm better. I just try not to think about how much it reminded me of Dad."

Peeta pulls me back to him in the hallway and embraces me once again. "I can't imagine what that must have been like for you."

"I've had better days, that's for sure."

"Well, I'm glad Gale and his gang of well-armed thugs will be staying, then. At least until we're sure you're not in any more danger."

His acceptance of Gale's presence reassures me, and I squeeze him in response. I'm wondering just how far that acceptance goes.

"He wants to go hunting," I say into his chest.

He stiffens only the slightest bit before resuming the small circles he's rubbing on my back. "Hmmmm. Do you want to go with him?"

I look up at him now. "Yes, I think so. It would be nice to hunt with a partner again. And while I'm not ready to totally forget everything that happened between us, I don't think I'm ready to just forget our friendship, either."

He takes a deep breath before answering. "I can see why you freaked out over Annaliese, now."

I swat him lightly for poking fun at me, at which he smirks.

"Seriously, Katniss, I totally trust you. And I'm not going to say you can't see him or spend time with him, or anyone else for that matter."

I nod.

"Just, do me one favor?"

"What?"

"Totally kick his ass as a hunter while you're out there, okay?" He grins widely.

I smile back at him. "No problem."


	29. Desire

It feels so amazingly good to hold her again. As I stand in the hall hugging her, never wanting to let go again, I feel myself growing hard, that all too familiar ache ruthlessly emanating from my groin.

I tangle my hand in her hair, loosening her braid, while I pull her even tighter into me, squeezing her waist with my arm. Her familiar scent registers anew as I turn my head to nuzzle just below her hairline near her ear. I can feel her arms press against my back, her fingertips pushing into me in response as I place long, lingering kisses on her neck.

“Mmmm, Katniss…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night, about being with you.”

She moans softly, leaning her lower half into me, which just turns my dull ache into more of a searing burn. What I say is true – despite forcing myself to stay away from her, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, about her body, about the things I wanted to do but would never have the opportunity to try. Though I may not have a lot of first-hand experience, being the youngest of three brothers and just a teenage boy in general had certainly filled my head with a lot of….ideas. Now that I’ve changed my mind about leaving, now that I know I’ll do whatever it takes to stay by her side forever, my brain has opened the floodgates of ways I want to be with Katniss. Now, I’m going to have to exercise a whole different kind of self-restraint as we reconnect. 

“I sincerely hope you are not planning on getting any sleep tonight,” I murmur into the crook of her neck, pulling gently on the hair that I’ve gathered in my fist. She inhales sharply, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, I feel her leg snake up around my own, as if she’s trying to climb me where I stand. If I had any doubts about her intentions, about her desire, that’s all the confirmation I need.

Moving both my hands swiftly down her backside I hoist her up onto my waist and turn, backing her up against the wall. Our lips meet, and as she pulls my head toward her I feel her tongue slide into my mouth. It feels so soft and supple, so small and delicate, compared to my own. I love that. I shift my one knee up under her, partially supporting her weight, so I can free one of my hands to move back up to the base of her head, lightly stroking the side of her breast on its way up. 

I tilt her head slightly, and lower her by an inch or two, making it possible for me to lean my head down and over hers, plunging my tongue deeply into her mouth. My jaw aches from the strain of opening my mouth so wide, but I am determined to capture as much of her taste in my mouth as possible. A taste I have craved with every breath for almost a week.

Panting, we break apart for a moment, locking our eyes. The lust and determination etched on her delicate features send me reeling. Suddenly every sexual escapade Brode or Liam ever relayed to me roars back into my consciousness in great detail. I don’t know if it’s having Gale here again, if it’s lingering tension from my episode last week, or if not having touched her for six days is to blame, but my cock threatens to explode with my need to make Katniss writhe in pleasure at my hands. Up until now I’ve held myself back, I’ve deliberately gone slowly with her.  

But right now, all I want is to _consume_ Katniss Everdeen.

“Katniss.” The lusty growl that escapes in the form of her name doesn’t even begin to convey the heat surging within me.

“Peeta, shut up and keep going.”

I crash into her again, an animalistic desire seizing me upon hearing her wanton permission. Somewhere, somehow, in the back of my head I vainly try to remind myself that we are not ready for everything, yet. But that thought does nothing to slow me down from attacking her body with carnal passion. 

My fingers fist her hair, yanking her head back roughly, and I devour her neck with my mouth, sucking hard as I grind into her with force. 

“I am going to make you come for me, over and over.” If she wasn’t squeezing her legs around my ass tightly when she gasped in response, I might have worried that my brazen words would offend her. 

“Not if I make you come first.”

And with that she squirms her hand in between us, snaking down to where my engorged dick is raging against the clothing that confines it, and starts stroking and squeezing me. Seems I’m not the only one with pent up frustration.

I release my grasp of her hair and move my hand roughly to her breast, squeezing it hard through the fabric of her shirt, eliciting a moan in response. I find her hardened nipple, and pull, releasing it so it snaps back slightly. My rhythmic thrusts against her start to rattle the pictures that hang on the wall next to us.

She pulls the back of my shirt up now, and I have to stop exploring her body long enough to juggle holding her up as she tears it over my head, tossing it down the hall. She places her hands on my chest, pulling on my blond hairs and lightly dragging her nails in circles lower and lower. I grab both her hands with one of mine, raising them up over her head as I lean my knee into the wall behind her, pressing my thigh deeper into her center. I can’t stop the growl that escapes when I feel her trying to clench herself tighter on my leg.

I move my mouth next to her ear. “You have no idea, the things I want to do to you.”

Her breath hitches, and her movements still in anticipation.

“I am going to strip every inch of clothing off of your glorious body, baring you completely, so I can stare at the curve of your neck, the rise of your breasts, your hard nipples, your soft thighs, your smooth ass and the curly hairs that hide your clit.” I move us away from the wall now, carrying her as she’s clinging to me, arms clasped around my neck. I can still feel her grinding into me, trying to satisfy herself.

“Then I am going to touch you, Katniss. Everywhere. For hours. I’m going to tease you and get you so excited you will beg me to let you come. And when I finally, finally let you, I’m going to keep making you come until you can’t take it anymore.”

I toss her on the bed now, watching her scramble backwards to prop up on her hands, her legs bent and falling open before me. Her hair is falling out of its braid, and she’s licking her lips as her unflinching steel grey eyes meet mine.

“Maybe after everything that’s happened you want me to be soft and gentle and slow, but I don’t think I can do that tonight. So, if you have a problem with what I’ve said, you better tell me now.”

She twists around so she’s kneeling on the bed right in front of me, hands at her sides, her eyes never leaving mine. My throbbing cock makes it hard to think straight, but I force myself to wait for her response. I have no idea what I’ll do if she says no, but the choice is always hers.

“The only problem I have with what you’ve said, Peeta,” she whispers, “is that you better not be lying.”

This woman will kill me yet.

The time for words is over.

I reach up and rip her shirt off, literally pulling it apart as buttons go flying. Using what’s left of it to pull her in to me roughly, I devour her mouth once again, tugging on her lips, forcefully pushing my tongue over hers. As I work to get her arms out of the remaining material, I move my mouth to the base of her neck where it connects with her shoulder and nibble as I suck, hard. I’ve never felt as possessive of Katniss as I do right now, and I want her to know it.

Her shirt free, I use both hands to unhook her bra, then yank both straps down her arms, baring her breasts before me. I pull my insatiable mouth from her neck and step back, vulgarly ogling her exposed chest. But this time she doesn’t shrink away or try to hide herself. She watches me openly staring at her, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. 

I step toward her again, lightly pushing her shoulders back so she falls onto the bed once more. Swiftly, I grab each side of her pants and panties, pulling them down hard past her knees. I groan to myself in frustration as I realize I’ve forgotten to take off her hunting boots, and she laughs a little at my exasperation. I try to just pull one off without untying it first, but it won’t budge. She’s even more amused, which fuels my annoyance. 

I push both her legs up toward her head, pants bunched up around her calves, shoes still on, and tell her to get them off, _now_. In this position, though, I have a beautiful view of her ass, firm, smooth, round. I drop to my knees next to the bed, and let my mouth go crazy. Licking, biting, kissing, nibbling, sucking – as my hands squeeze and knead her full cheeks, my mouth creates red marks all over her ass. More than once the soft thud of a boot on my back or shoulder tells me that I’m sufficiently distracting her from her assigned task.

Finally, I hear the second boot hit the floor behind me, and without taking my tongue off her soft behind I reach up with both hands to remove the last of her clothing. Once her legs are freed, I hold them up with my hands on the backs of her thighs, and slowly lower them as my tongue laps its way from her ass down the back of her thighs. 

That’s how I find my face inches from her pussy, a distinct new scent overwhelming my senses and riveting my eyes to the lush mound in front of me. 

I remember Brode and Liam having a conversation with me once about the taste of a girl, how it was unlike anything else in the world. And that if I ever found myself lucky enough to be in that position, I would never believe how erotic licking and sucking a woman _there_ could be, or how effective at making them fall apart. At the time I was too young to think it sounded anything but gross – the idea of putting my face in a woman’s crotch, of actually licking her with my tongue. But with Katniss naked before me, her black hairs already glistening, my mouth is watering at the prospect.

I manage to control my instincts enough to notice that Katniss has propped herself up on her elbows and is looking at me, wide-eyed. My eyes look greedily at the black curls so close to my face, then back up at her astonished face.

“Trust me.” It’s a request as much as it is a demand. She bites her bottom lip, then disappears from my view, lying back down on the bed. I see her hands clench the blanket underneath them, steeling herself for whatever is about to happen.

Her uncertainty helps me reign in my temptation to just dive right in. Instead, I wrap my arms around the outside of her thighs, placing my hands just shy of her knees, and gently pull them father apart. This causes her folds to part slightly, revealing pinkish, plump skin that looks unbelievably and astonishingly delicious to me. I stare at her intently, curious and hungry both. I exhale deeply, trying to calm myself, and my breath lands on her damp opening. 

Her legs clench in my arms, and her hips tilt upward, straining to meet the breeze. Intrigued, I deliberately blow onto her again, and am rewarded by her flesh erupting in goosebumps while she hisses a new sound I haven’t heard her utter yet. 

I turn my head to one side and deliver a long, lingering, wet kiss on her inner thigh, squeezing both her legs softly with my hands. 

“You smell…amazing.”

Her embarrassed little laugh causes her stomach to collapse just a bit. 

“No, really, just smelling you, down here, is turning me on. I can’t wait to see what you taste like.” I figure if she’s not okay with where I’m going, this is her chance to tell me. The only response I hear is a quiet one.

“I trust you.”

Given everything that’s happened between us, I try not to read more into that small statement than was intended, but I can’t help but blink back tears of relief and joy at her statement. Her admission just makes me want to bring her even more pleasure.

I begin trailing light kisses up her thigh, closer and closer to her core, even venturing to the outline of her pubic hair. I move from one leg to the other and repeat the process, noticing that her hips are starting to rock in a circle as my lips make their journey across her sensitive skin. 

“Do you like that, Katniss? Does this feel good?”

“Mmmmmhhhmmmm,” is the only audible response I get.

“Should I stop there? Or do you want to feel my tongue…here?” And with that I flick my tongue very quickly over her slit, just barely putting any pressure on her intimate folds. 

“Ooooohhh!” She inhales sharply in response, and her hips buck up. If my arms weren’t holding her legs in place she might have knocked herself right into my nose. 

I chuckle at her involuntary response. 

I place a kiss outside her lower lips, right on her black curls. They are courser than they look, just like mine. As sexy as they appear, I don’t relish the idea of all that hair in my mouth, really. So, I rearrange my arms and hands so that I can use my fingers to pull her apart, exposing the hairless, slick skin that makes my mouth water even more.

Starting at the bottom, I slowly and deliberately lap my tongue upward, fully tasting her uniqueness. As soon as my mouth leaves her skin, though, it demands more of this intoxicating tang. I immediately turn to her other side and repeat the same movement, licking from bottom to top once again. I can tell she likes the sensation because her ass grinds into the bed below it, actually scooting herself a little closer to me. 

With my own arousal raging at this point, I release one of her legs long enough to undo my pants and give my hard dick some breathing room. I didn’t think I could actually get any harder than I was, but being this intimate with Katniss is taking me to a whole new level. I sigh as my head finally springs free from its constricting confines, and quickly wrap her leg in my arm once more, fingers displaying the mesmerizing form hidden beneath her folds. 

“Peeta, please, do that again.”

I aim straight for the middle of her this time, starting low and making my way upward, but going slowly, moving my tongue from side to side as I slide it up along her center. Nothing I’ve ever eaten compares to the exquisite taste I find there. The effect it has on me is like an aphrodisiac. My brothers didn’t do this justice with their description.

As my tongue reaches the top, I explore more fully, seeking out that nub that I know holds the key to unleashing her. I know instantly when I find it – its smooth hardness contrasting so brightly with the rest of her soft, malleable folds – as she bucks once again up and into my chin. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I resolve to push her over the edge with just my tongue. 

I reposition my fingers a bit higher, fully exposing her sensitive spot. With my lips sitting right on it, I murmur to her.

“Mmmmmm…Katniss…I am going to make you sing for me tonight.”

The guttural response I hear from her makes me rub my cock up against the side of the bed just to feel some friction. Mentally I have to talk myself down from just touching her like I did last time. Instead, I start to kiss all around my ultimate target, teasing her with anticipation. She rocks back and forth, trying to align her nub with my mouth each time. 

“Not yet, babe, not yet. I want you ready.”

“Ugh! Peeta, I _am_ ready!”

“If you can still speak, then you aren’t ready.”

It’s almost as if my mouth can talk without my brain right now. I don’t know where that came from, but she gasps, and I could swear I see shivers course through her body. I continue my kisses, interspersing them with licks. I even try sucking on her folds a couple of times, testing to see what kind of response that generates. She grows wetter and wetter, and I can feel her slickness covering my lips and chin. I move my head back for a minute, just staring at her again, using my fingers to pull her apart even further. That’s when I see it – her opening, luscious, dripping, and inviting. Without thinking I plunge my tongue inside as far as it will go, which isn’t nearly far enough to satisfy me or her. 

I pulse my tongue in and out of her, drinking in the moisture that flows from her. She’s not the only one making noise now, and my grunts and moans just seem to add to her frenzied state. I withdraw my tongue, no longer capable of taking my time with her. I descend on her clit with my tongue, flicking and sucking roughly, needing to feel her come apart.

“Ah…oh…Pee…unh”

Now she’s ready.

Shifting my weight to my left side, I quickly pin her leg, pushing it even farther apart, while I unhook my right arm, bring it inside her legs and use my elbow to push her other knee in the opposite direction. With force, I shove two fingers inside her, pushing as hard and as deep as I can the very first time. When I feel them actually push her clit up onto my tongue, I practically cum myself. Quickly, I find a frantic rhythm using my fingers and my mouth, coordinating the pressure on her clit so that one or the other is always stimulating her. 

I have to work hard to keep her in place, as her writhing and bucking in response to my efforts rise to a new intensity. She’s a lot stronger than she looks. 

I try to pay close attention to which sensation drives her wild more – flicking, sucking, even nibbling softly at her. When I start to feel her walls clench around my fingers, I add a third inside her, briefly wondering to myself if I could actually get my entire hand in there without hurting her. She’s practically screaming now, and I know she’s close. I focus on flicking my tongue quickly over her nub, varying between softly and with more pressure. 

When she finally falls apart, I leave my fingers inside her, and suck on her nub without stopping until I feel the waves of pleasure begin to subside. At some point I finally notice that she’s got her hands in my hair, pushing my head down and onto her, and my hand inside her twitches in response. When her legs finally go slack under me, I know she’s finished, and slowly pull my fingers out of her warm space. I rub my face against her thigh, and can see the slick evidence of her orgasm there. My fingers are drenched, and I look at them hungrily before putting them in my mouth and licking every last drop of her off of them, the taste even sweeter and more potent than before. I have to grab my cock and stroke myself a couple of times to relieve the mounting pressure.

I climb up on to the bed and lie next to her, head propped on my hand while the other one traces the curves of her body from her core to her neck. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is shallow, but there is an unmistakable, satisfied smile on her face. She looks amazing. She lies, spent, her breasts still heaving with her dwindling pants. I can’t take my eyes off them. The way the soft mounds rise out of her chest, the perfect size to fill my palms. My eyes roam to her still-erect nipples, surrounded by a ring of darker skin that’s covered in smaller bumps – more evidence of her arousal. 

I lean down and take the one closest to me in my mouth, sucking hard on it, pulling the nipple into my teeth and biting just enough to make her squeeze my shoulder. My free hand grabs her other breast and I roll and pinch that nipple as my mouth continues to devour this one. I cannot get enough of her. I want to nip and suck and bite and lick every inch of her gorgeous, pliant body. 

As much as I ache to thrust myself deep inside her, I remind myself that we need to wait – it’s too soon. But I need relief. Katniss is still too spent to be able to help me find my own release yet. I’m tempted to just jerk off, lying here next to her, but the sight of her naked body is too compelling – if I can’t be _in_ her, I at least want to be _on_ her. 

I push myself up and straddle her stomach, making sure my cock is far above her pussy so as not to succumb to that temptation. My sudden weight on her gets her attention, but she doesn’t push me away. I feel her hands on my thighs as I grab both her breasts and start squeezing and pushing them together. The valley between them disappears as I knead them toward one another, leaving just the smallest of openings….

“I want to try something.”

My tone is darker, hungry, full of lust and desire. I can only imagine how good this could feel, if she’ll let me. I look at her eyes, looking for confirmation of her permission, her trust. She’s still so satiated from her own rise and fall that she just smirks at me. “Then do it.”

I smirk right back – I love that she’s not inhibited tonight. Maybe it won’t always be this way, but maybe it will.

I reach behind myself and drag my four fingers through the wetness that is still pooled where her thighs meet. Then I smear it all over the inner sides of her breasts, repeating the process multiple times until I can see a thin, slick sheen coating her chest and the rising walls of her breasts. I scoot higher on her body, adjusting my height so that I don’t crush her, but so I can also direct my erection exactly where I want it to go. It takes me a couple of tries to balance just right, since my hands are shoving her breasts together and I’m lowering myself to align the tip of my head at the small opening that I’ve created by smashing her breasts together. I slide myself into the soft, supple canal, and hiss as the feeling of being enveloped by Katniss Everdeen almost overwhelms me.

I leave my throbbing cock fully covered by smooth, wet breasts and open my eyes to find hers again. She has to look up to meet my gaze, having lowered her eyes to watch as I slid into her chest.

“I’m going to cum all over you, soon. Is that okay?”

Instead of answering me, she takes her hands off my thighs and places them on top of my hands, helping me squeeze her breasts even tighter together. I remove my hands, placing them flat against the wall above her head for leverage. Somehow, she manages to intertwine her fingers, pulling her perfect mounds even closer together, and effectively surrounding my thick, hard, pulsating cock on all sides. 

I can’t take it anymore. I start to roll my hips back and forth, sliding through her wetness and fingers and flesh in a way that is so tantalizing I am rendered incapable of any further speech. My pace quickens as I feel my stomach muscles begin to contract. I almost punch a hole in the wall when I accidentally misalign one of my thrusts and my dick slides out of this fabricated pussy. But Katniss quickly repositions me, and I once again begin to glide back and forth, acutely aware of the feel of the ridges created by her interlocked fingers as I thrust underneath them.

“Unh…gonna…I’m…aaaaggggghhhh!”

My entire body shudders violently as I watch my creamy load explode all over her breasts, neck, chin, jaw, hands, even as far as her hair. I am covering her in my seed, and nothing I have seen, heard or imagined is as sexy as this sight beneath me. I am so turned on by seeing my cock drench her in its explosion that I practically feel my erection returning before I’m even finished.

Finally, I can’t hold myself up any longer. I push off the wall that’s supporting me and roll to the side of her with a thud. Briefly I’m aware of pain in my leg – kneeling with my prosthesis is never very comfortable – but it is so far overshadowed by the images being replayed in my head of Katniss being showered in my semen that I shake with pleasure all over again. 

I turn just my head to look at her, and see that she’s watching me, still flat on her back, as the remnants of my cum slowly slide down her shoulders and chest.

“I love you,” I say, not knowing what else could even come close to expressing how I feel about her in this instant. 

She looks at me, her usually steel-like eyes soft and tender. “I will always be yours, Peeta.”

I lean toward her and we kiss – slow, sensual, lingering, cementing all we’re both feeling with our fused lips.

When we break apart, finally, she rises and walks softly toward the bathroom. When she glances back at me over her shoulder, there’s a mirth in her eyes that I don’t see very often. 

“Coming?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.


	30. Home

The wind rustles the autumn-colored leaves around me as I close my eyes, listening for any telltale signs of nearby prey. As I turn my face toward the west I can feel the late afternoon sun warm my cheeks. The soft and gentle breeze stirring the red, orange and yellow hues confirms that our late summer has ended – its crisp, cool tendrils snaking their way under my scarf and the ends of my sleeves. 

I sense more than hear the movement to my left. Slowly I open my eyes, peering through the underbrush for the source of the disturbance. Before it’s even in my sights I silently nock my arrow and raise the bow – I steady myself as I rise slightly on my haunches, poised and ready to release as soon as I make eye contact. 

As I watch, my muscles relax into their familiar stance. My left arm tense and locked, my right drawn back as far as possible with the elbow bent at a sharp angle. My fingers flex ever so slightly against the string and arrow, while my cheek finds its usual resting place. Once again, the rest of the world quickly disappears around me as my hunter’s senses hone in on my next target.

Another step, and it appears. A good sized buck emerges from behind a grouping of bushes about 30 yards away. I steady myself, breathing the way my father taught me, pausing that extra second to make sure I have exactly the shot I want before I release with certainty and speed. The arrow cleanly finds its way directly into the buck’s neck, startling the animal as it tries to move off. But the damage is done – it falters on its front legs first, quickly followed by its hind quarters giving out. It rolls to its side as the blood spurts from the wound, trailing down its hide. I stand slowly, watching it with respect as it draws its final breaths, allowing myself just a hint of pride at such a clean kill.

“Nice one, Catnip. I see you’ve kept your skills sharp.” Gale moves toward me from the right, seemingly gliding just over the forest floor for all the sound he doesn’t make during his approach. I may be more skilled at bringing game down with an arrow, but he still reigns supreme when it comes to noiselessly moving through the forest. 

“Thanks. Guess I’m glad you’re here after all – wouldn’t enjoy hauling this back all by myself.” 

He snorts. “Guess that’s all I am now – paid help to do the heavy lifting, huh?” I know he’s joking, but he doesn’t quite hide the accusation he’s hinting at. 

“Who said anything about paid?” I retort, doing my best to recover the light-hearted banter that used to come so easily to the two of us out here, and which we’ve both been awkwardly struggling to reinvent today.

He laughs good-naturedly, perhaps too much so, at my response and we move toward the deer to field dress it before bundling it up for Gale to haul back. I lick my lips at the thought of what Peeta will be able to concoct for a meal with this. 

We make our way back toward town, Gale barely huffing under the weight of the carcass.

“You know, you could go back there. I’ll go with you if that would help.”

I don’t respond immediately. When we had set out this morning, Gale had shown up with two other soldiers, insisting that they needed to accompany us as guards. It hadn’t taken long for me to make it clear that it was either just him, or we weren’t going at all. I didn’t feel like tromping around the woods with an entourage that would have scared off every bit of game within a half-mile radius. He had reluctantly agreed, but insisted that they stay at the edge of the forest just in case. When we reached town, he was surprised when I veered to the left instead of taking the path that would have led to our old hunting grounds – the hallowed ground I have not yet set foot on since that horrible night when Haymitch retrieved me.

I had simply stated that I didn’t hunt in those woods anymore, and the scowl on my face must have made it clear that it wasn’t open for discussion. We had come to this part of the forest, which was hard enough in a way, given that my last memory of these woods wasn’t pleasant, either. But we needed food, and this memory was easier to move past than those ghosts. I think Gale had been disappointed about not revisiting our old stomping grounds, but had wisely kept his mouth shut about my choice. Until now.

“Thanks, but this part of the forest has worked out well for me so far. At least most of the time.”

He cocks an eyebrow in my direction, curious about my vague allusion. My first instinct is to not discuss anything about Peeta’s incident with Gale. But, an idea pops into my head that makes me wonder if he may be able to help with something after all.

“This part of the forest is great – lots of game, easy terrain, a nice stream for trapping. And there’s a beautiful meadow farther in. The only problem I’ve had is some leftover tracker jackers near the meadow. Don’t suppose there’s anything you could do about those?”

Gale looks at me sideways as we walk along, his breaths starting to come a little more loudly as the strain of hauling so much meat begins to wear on him. 

“Uh huh. And are they the same ones that caused bread boy’s episode last week, by any chance?”

The smug tone in his voice grates my nerves. “Nevermind,” I spit back at him. As much as I’d like to get rid of those tracker jackers, I can’t bring myself to grovel to Gale Hawthorne. It was hard enough to ask the first time.

He stops, puts his hand on my arm to stop me, and turns so we face each other.  “Hey, relax. I meant it when I said if you need anything, just ask. I know you hate asking anyone for help, and I suspect that probably applies doubly to me right now. I’m not giving you a hard time, I swear. Okay?”

The sincerity of his words is startling – this is unlike the Gale I used to know, the Gale from before the war. Clearly he’s trying, just as he has been all morning. I should cut him some slack, but I’m not quite ready. Instead, I just nod in response.

“As it so happens, part of the work I’ve been doing in other districts, including Two, is supervising teams to remove tracker jacker nests. The Capitol made sure they could track the hives so that if their forces needed to move through an area with nests they could eliminate them first. So, yes, I can help you by doing a sweep of the area before we leave and taking out any nests we find, alright?”

“That would be great. Thank you.” I give him a small smile, and he returns it. We resume walking, with the silence just a bit less strained than before.

“You know, Catnip, I never really told you before, while everything was happening and all. It’s just, well, I was so caught up in everything. But, I really want you to know…” He stops again, but waits this time for me to stop a few feet in front of him and turn around.

“I’m really proud of you.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting – another apology, a confession about his feelings for me, a grudging admittance that he knows Peeta is a good guy, something like that – but I was not expecting this. I blink rapidly, suddenly overcome with emotions I thought I had buried a long time ago. I just stand there, mouth agape, blinking back tears, unable to speak.

“You were so brave, and you fought so hard for what you believed in, what was right. You faced everything that happened with so much courage. I would have given anything to be able to take your place in the games, but if I had, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have had a rebellion, Snow would still be in control and life would still be awful for everyone in Panem.”

He rolls the buck off his shoulders and drops it in the leaves. He steps right in front of me, but doesn’t reach out to touch me in any way. I’m trying so hard not to cry right now that I can’t even look at him. 

“I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I would give anything, _anything_ , including my own life, to bring Prim back. And I know you and I may never be the same again because of her. But, before I leave this time, I wanted you to know that through it all, as I watched you and even as I think back on it now that it’s over, I feel so lucky to have been able to call you my friend. And I will always be proud of what you did.”

I break, finally, and start weeping in front of him. I have missed him so much…missed my friend. And while what he’s said doesn’t erase everything that’s happened between us, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest. Hearing him say he’s proud of me is the closest I’ll ever get to hearing my Dad say it, and the emotion of that realization rips apart any defensive wall I may have left standing.

He takes me in his arms and hugs me, just holding me, swaying back and forth, not saying a word. And just this once, just this one time, I let myself mourn for everything that I’ve lost. My town, my home, my father, my mother, my sister, my only friend from before, my friends from the war who didn’t make it. I cry my tears onto his shoulder, and he just stands there and lets me, understanding that this cleansing needs to happen.

After what I would consider a ridiculous amount of time, he finally speaks. “I just want you to be happy, Catnip. Honestly. And if Peeta makes you happy, then be with him. Really, truly, be with him. Just promise me one thing, okay?”

“What’s that?” I mumble into his shirt.

“If he ever breaks your heart, you’ll call me so I can come kick his ass.”

I laugh a little. Always the protector, this one. I wonder if he’ll always see himself that way, and if that secret part of me I never allow myself to acknowledge will always be grateful. It occurs to me that while I may have lost a father, I’ve gained three men in my life who have all said they would lay down their lives to keep me safe. It’s a little overwhelming.

“You won’t have to – I’ll have kicked it already.”

He laughs heartily, pulling back to wipe the hair from my face and the tears from my cheeks. 

“Thanks for coming out here with me today. I really do miss our time in the woods.”

I smile up at him now. “Anytime you want to come to Twelve, I’ll be happy to show you how I’m still a better hunter than you.”

He grins as he stoops to pick up the dead deer again. “Whatever you say, Catnip, whatever you say.”

* * *

“Mmmmm, that meat pie was amazing tonight! I can’t tell you how glad I am you can cook.” 

Peeta laughs at my praise, and wraps his arm around me as I snuggle into him in bed. After enjoying a hearty meal with Gale and Haymitch that finally did not include any yelling or punches being thrown, we had lingered by the fire together, reminiscing about some of the folks from Twelve whom we’ve lost, and learning more about Gale’s new life in Two. It had been an unusually sociable and fun evening, one I think we all desperately needed.

Peeta and Gale even seemed to have come to a gentleman’s agreement about me. They definitely never passed up an opportunity to one-up the other in conversation, but I no longer worried that time together would devolve into an altercation. Gale respected that we were together, and Peeta made an honest effort to welcome Gale and honor the role he had played, and might potentially play, as my longest and best friend for so many years.

“If you think that meat pie was amazing, you should see what I’m cooking up down here.” He points indiscreetly to his groin and I am immediately taken aback.

“Peeta Mellark!” I chide as I swat his chest. This is definitely a side of Peeta I have not yet seen, and I’m not sure I want to see more. At least not yet.

He just laughs and hugs me tightly. He’s definitely become more relaxed now that I’ve confirmed that I want to be with him and not Gale. We’re both a little worn out, and I’m looking forward to just falling asleep in his arms, and waking up in them again in the morning. It’s almost hard to believe that a few days ago we weren’t even speaking and he was getting ready to leave. I shrug the thoughts from my mind quickly, not wanting to ruin a good moment.

I unsuccessfully stifle a yawn before asking, “Are you going back to the bakery tomorrow?” Peeta hasn’t been back since the day of the incident. Thom has apparently made a lot of progress in his absence, but there are some final touches that Peeta really needs to participate in before they can finish and pronounce the bakery ready for business. 

“Yea, I really need to get back to it so we can finish up and get up and running before winter. I was kind of hoping you would come with me, actually. I’d like to show you around.”

I haven’t seen the bakery in weeks, and while I still have some reservations about how much of Peeta’s time running a bakery is going to take, it certainly beats not having him here at all. “Sure, I’d like that. We can go in first thing in the morning if you want.”

He kisses my forehead and squeezes my shoulder. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, and after the last week, I really don’t know why you continue to put up with me. But I’m so happy you’re here with me. I can’t imagine life without you anymore, Katniss. I really can’t.”

I lean my head up and see those startlingly blue eyes peering down at me. I push myself up enough so that we can kiss, a long, lingering, heartfelt kiss that expresses so much more of what I’m feeling than my words ever could.

Finally, after such a long and hard road, I finally feel as if I’ve found home once again.


	31. Joy

“I can see you, you know.” I shake my head and laugh as Katniss tries, unsuccessfully, to sneak yet another cheese bun off the plate on the counter.

“What?” she innocently asks.

“You’re going to make yourself sick. That’ll be your fourth one.” I may be admonishing her, but I couldn’t be more pleased. I love that Katniss loves my baking, and that we’ve managed to fall back into such a comfortable banter with each other after only a few days.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to sneak them if you’d make enough for everyone.”

I laugh out loud in disbelief. “Katniss, I made two dozen and there are only two more people coming to breakfast!”

She smirks. “Like I said. You need to make some for everyone else.” She puts the last piece in her mouth and licks her fingers suggestively.

I never want to go through what we endured last week again – being separated and thinking I would never be with her again. But if there is one silver lining that has come out of all that drama, it’s that Katniss has lost all hesitation about indulging the physical side of our relationship - showing affection, kissing, holding hands and more. We’ve barely kept our hands off each other for the last few days, always touching in some way whenever we’re together. I could definitely get used to this.

“You could at least save some for me.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, then gets an impish grin on her face that I love to see because it usually precedes something I’m going to enjoy. I keep one eye on the omelet I’m cooking as the other watches her tear a chunk off of yet another cheese bun on the plate. But instead of popping that one in her mouth, she saunters over to me at the stove, and raises the morsel to my lips. I start to open my mouth, my eyes never leaving hers, but instead of feeding it to me she caresses my lips with the pastry before slowly bringing it to her own mouth and opening wide as she drops it in. Tease. But before she turns with a smug, satisfied look on her face, I grab her wrist of the hand that had been holding the treat. I bring her fingers up to my mouth, and lick them, slowly, one at a time, extending my tongue as far as it will go.

Her eyes are riveted to her hand, watching me. Once I’m done savoring the taste of her slender fingers, I lean over to her ear before I release her hand and whisper, “I wasn’t talking about those buns.” She wilts just a bit, and I’m the one who gets to turn with a smug, satisfied look back to the omelet just as the front door opens.

“Hands off you two!” Haymitch bellows from the front door before even setting foot in the house. Having walked in on us two nights ago, he’s a lot more cautious now.

Katniss rolls her eyes as she moves the plate of remaining cheese buns from the counter to the table, which is already set for four. The fact that she swipes the rest of what is now her fifth cheese bun while doing so does not escape me.

“Fully clothed and already cookin’. You two must have been up early today.”

“Good morning to you, too, Haymitch,” I reply.

“Where’s Gale?” Katniss asks.

I surprise myself by only slightly tightening my grasp on the spatula. While Gale and I aren’t best friends by any stretch, we’ve managed to move to a friendlier level of interaction with each other while he’s been here. The physical attention from Katniss has gone a long way in reassuring me that I don’t need to be worried about him anymore, even though I’m pretty sure she didn’t intend it that way. One of the things I’m learning, or relearning, about Katniss is that she’s very much a “what you say is what you get” girl. She says she’s not interested in Gale, therefore she expects the matter is settled. I’m doing my best to accept that, but wonder if a part of me will always feel just a bit insecure about the two of them. I know he’s important to her, though, even if she still feels conflicted about how much she wants him in her life now, and I don’t want to do anything to take that away from her. We’ve both already lost far too much that’s important to us.

“He’ll be along. Said somethin’ about the hovercraft and knockin’ some heads around or somethin’.”

Gale has actually been staying at Haymitch’s house while they’ve been stationed here. That was the compromise they reached after Haymitch scared off two separate patrols stationed at his house, one by himself and one by siccing his geese on them. Gale said that as a precaution either Haymitch would have to stay on the hovercraft with him or he would stay at his house. I’m sure there was more to it than that, but neither of them would give us the full version of what really transpired. We’ve had two guards outside my house 24/7, most of whom I’ve gotten to know by name. At first I thought I’d resent having them around, but it didn’t take too long before I grew accustomed to the additional faces. They follow me to the bakery while other soldiers stay with Katniss wherever she goes.

“Bet you’ll be sorry to see him leave, Haymitch. I think you’ve enjoyed having a housemate who can actually hold a conversation and doesn’t just squawk to get more bread out of you.” I can’t resist needling him a little this morning – I’m in that good a mood.

“Yeah, well, it takes one to know one, don’t it kid?”

I have to bite the laugh that erupts from me at his dig at Katniss’ sometimes lacking communication skills and seeming addiction to all bakery products. Her scowl at both of us makes Haymitch guffaw so hard he practically chokes on the berry he just popped in his mouth.

“Aw, don’t fret, sweetheart. At least you’ve graduated from slug to goose.”

I can see her about to bolt, so I opt to intervene.

“Katniss, could you help me with these?”

She glares at Haymitch as she comes over and takes a couple plates with omelets for me to the table. There’s a knock at the door this time, and in walks Gale.

“Mornin’.” He nods to me and gives Katniss a quick, casual hug before sitting down at the table.

“Everything alright? Haymitch said you had to go to the hovercraft this morning.” Katniss doesn’t waste any time expressing her concern. I briefly wonder if Haymitch’s antics this morning were intentional as a diversionary tactic.

I turn off the stove and join everyone at the table now that breakfast is fully ready.

“Actually, everything’s fine. Just got off with Beetee.” Gale grabs some toast and butter then takes a big gulp of milk.

“And?!” Katniss hasn’t moved from the spot she’s been standing since Gale hugged her.

He swallows and grins. “It’s confirmed – no more mutts. Those were the only two that made it to completion, apparently. They found the rest of the ‘attempts’ and the missing scientists near District 5 and detained them. It’s over.”

Instinctively I look to Katniss, and she’s already staring right at me. I smile at her, and she returns it, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she does so.

I turn to Gale. “That’s great, man. Thank you. For everything.” I hold out my hand, which he takes, and we shake. I mean it. I could not be more grateful for his timely arrival and the news that we won’t have any more unexpected visitors. He looks me right in the eye – so many unspoken words in one look…

“You’re welcome.” He releases my hand and looks at Katniss. “We’ve taken care of your other problem as well.” He reaches for some bacon, and scoops an omelet onto his plate.

Katniss glances at me nervously before saying, “Thanks, Gale.”

“Care to clue me in?” I have no idea what they are talking about.

Gale looks between us, as does Haymitch. One looks surprised, the other amused. I’m trying not to get suspicious.

Katniss tries to pretend it’s no big deal, which immediately makes me think it is. “Yeah, well, when we were out hunting the other day I asked Gale if he could help get rid of some pests in the forest. No big deal.”

I turn to Gale, though I have a feeling I know what this is about now. “Pests?”

“Well, not exactly what I would call tracker jackers, but yeah, guess you could call them that.”

Katniss is looking sheepishly at me. I suppose she’s worried I might be upset about her asking Gale for help.

“And you got rid of them?” I ask Gale for clarification.

“Uh huh. Found three nests in those woods. We took care of them, though, and no signs of any others, so you should be fine now.”

There’s an awkward silence as Katniss and Haymitch wait to see how I’ll react to this news. I suppose I could be upset that they didn’t tell me about this, but then again, what does it matter? Just another reason to celebrate, in my opinion.

I look at Katniss pointedly. I hope she feels the same way I do, and I’m definitely going out on a limb here by saying it in front of these two.

“Well, then, maybe we can hike up to that meadow again so I can finish my drawing of it for you?”

I can feel Gale looking right at me as I stay focused on Katniss, awaiting her reaction. Her face is neutral, then breaks into a small smile. “Definitely.” I return the smile, and motion for her to take a seat at the table before I sit myself.

“So, does this mean I can finally get your ass out of my house, _Commander_?” I don’t think I’ve heard Haymitch refer to Gale by name the entire time he’s been here.

Gale glances at me quickly, then looks to Katniss. “We leave this afternoon,” he says quietly.

Katniss doesn’t respond, then looks back down at her plate.

“Where are you headed? Back to Two?” I ask, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“Actually, we’ll be stopping at the Capitol to debrief with President Paylor first. Then, I think we may be headed to District Seven. Apparently no one has heard from Johanna Mason in a few weeks. They want us to track her down. Don’t suppose any of you have heard from her?”

I’m immediately concerned, but Haymitch is laughing. “Trust me, Johanna will be heard from when she wants to be heard from. Probably out in the forest building herself a nice log cabin as far away from humanity as possible.”

His lack of concern is a little reassuring, but I’d still like to know she’s okay, and I have a letter I had meant to send her sitting upstairs.

“No, we haven’t heard from her. But would you mind taking a letter for her with you? I meant to send it, but it’ll probably get there faster with you.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Breakfast continues uneventfully, until finally it’s time for Gale to go.

Haymitch leaves first, taking a new loaf of bread for his flock.

Katniss and I walk Gale to the front door, with mutual assurances between the two of them to stay in touch and call or write with news from now on.

At the door, Gale turns to Katniss first.

“Well, Catnip, I wish it had been under different circumstances, but I’m damn glad I finally got to see you again.”

“Me, too, Gale. Thanks again, for all your help.”

He hesitates, eyes peering right into hers. “I meant it, you know. Anytime. Anything you need. I’ll always be here for you, as much as you’ll let me.”

Katniss bites her lower lip, and I can tell she’s trying really hard not to tear up. Instead, she reaches up and wraps her arms around Gale’s neck, pulling him in for a hug. It’s definitely weird for me, standing right there, but I try not to intrude.

“I know,” she whispers.

They hold each other for a moment, then she backs away, awkwardly wiping her hand across her cheek.

He turns to walk out onto the porch, and I take a step forward as well. When he turns back to face me, I’m surprised by the intensity of his look.

“You take care of her, Peeta. I’m trusting you.”

His tone is solemn, filled with unspoken threats, implicated pleas and a resigned acceptance of our respective roles in her life now.

“You have my word.” I hold out my hand to him once more.

He looks over my shoulder at Katniss, standing in the doorway watching us, and then back at me. He grips my forearm instead of taking my hand, and nods.

Then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

_(three months later)_

“Hey, Sae, I’m about done. Do you need any help?”

“No, no, I’m all good here. You head on home now. And tell Katniss thanks again for that turkey – gonna get a lot of mileage out of that big bird for sure!”

“I will. Have a good night.”

I shut off the light in Baker’s Dozen and pull the door closed, locking it behind me as I step out into the wintry evening. The snow is coming down in large flakes, adding to the half-a-foot we already have on the ground. Makes it harder to walk from the bakery to home, but I don’t mind. I love looking at the way the newly installed street lamps glow on the fresh white mounds around them. And the muffled quiet the snow blanket casts upon the town is comforting and calming, and affords me a good opportunity to just let my mind wander as I walk.

We opened the bakery and café two months ago and I love it. I work six days a week, and Hasmik helps out as well. With training, he’s actually taken to baking pretty quickly, and in another few months I think he could actually handle a shift without me. And working right next to Sae all day long has been, in a word, fun. She has a sharp sense of humor, and doesn’t hold back her opinion on anything. Listening to her interact with her customers is always amusing and brings a smile to my face. We’re pretty much only selling basics – hearty breads and rolls, an occasional cookie or cupcake for a special occasion. Most of the residents in Twelve still don’t have much to speak of. But slowly we’re starting to see some regular customers, and expect in the Spring to have a whole new influx of newcomers to add to our potential customer base. For now, I’m just thrilled to be able to help ensure that no one in Twelve will go without food this winter. And every Friday I make sure to put out a plate of a special sweet treat – all the kids from the school come over and help themselves. I love seeing their squeals and laughter as they indulge in this small reward for working in school.

Across the square I see Thom and Annaliese hanging green garland on the gazebo and wave as I walk by. They’re helping decorate in preparation for our first ever holiday concert in the square. The school children will be singing winter songs they’ve learned in school, I’m donating donuts, and Katniss, Haymitch and I have all given Nigel Landry money to supply everyone who attends with a cup of hot chocolate. Everyone is looking forward to celebrating together tomorrow evening. After so many bleak winters, those of us here in Twelve now are eager to start some new, happy traditions.

As I make my way up to what was formerly Victor’s Village, but is now, thankfully, becoming known simply as Northern Hill, I deeply breathe in the smell of burning wood fires coming from a few of the houses, including ours and Haymitch’s. It’s a clear night, with brilliant stars shining, cold enough for me to see my breath, and so quiet the only sound is the crunch my shoes make in the snow as I trudge up the hill.

The warm glow of lights from inside the house illuminate the porch and yard, and I find myself stopping to just take in the sight. I know that Katniss is waiting inside, waiting for me to arrive, waiting to tell me about her latest foray into the woods or the newest entry in her plant book. Waiting for me to share entertaining stories about the customers who came in today, or the latest news from town. Moments like this remind me just how hard it is to believe that this is my life now. The girl of my dreams is now the woman I share my day-to-day life with. I have my own bakery, we live in a peaceful country with no more senseless slaughter of innocent children. I’m actually alive, and well, and happy. It’s so much more than I thought possible a year ago it stops me in my tracks. It’s so far removed from the horrors we endured such a short time ago, it’s so normal, that I know part of me thinks it cannot possibly be real.

But I shake that thought loose before it can take hold and make my way up the walk to our porch, stomping my feet and brushing the snow out of my hair before opening the front door and walking inside.

“Katniss? I’m home.” I immediately smell something enticing wafting from the kitchen.

“I’m in here!”

I hang up my coat, take off my shoes and walk back to the kitchen. “You cooked.”

Since the weather turned colder and hunting has been less and less productive, I have started to show Katniss how to make some simpler dishes. Watching her in the kitchen has been more amusing than appetite-inducing, but I admire her tenacity and determination to learn the basics. She’ll never enjoy cooking and baking as much as I do, and I probably derive more pleasure from watching her hair fall apart as she unwittingly rubs flour, sugar, salt and what-not into it as she works than I’ll ever get from actually eating what she creates. But we both enjoy spending time together in the evening as we prepare our dinner. Tonight, however, it appears she’s taken matters into her own hands.

She turns toward me, a smudge of sauce evident on her cheek, hands covered in what I presume is flour, and cheeks flushed from her efforts.

“I wanted to. I…well, I felt bad about last night, and I wanted to make it up to you.”

I had almost forgotten. That’s just one of the differences between the two of us that are coming to light as we figure out this new life with one another. As idyllic as my new life may seem, it is certainly not without its own trials. Katniss’ temper is still alive and well, and makes a fairly regular appearance. I tend to be more even-keeled, but know that I get on her nerves in my own ways as well. When we do disagree, it tends to stay with Katniss longer, whereas I usually move on fairly quickly.

Last night, I had made a comment about her clothes being all over the bedroom floor. I was tired, and know I didn’t handle the situation properly. She had immediately gotten defensive, threatening to take her clothes and herself back to her own house if I was so inconvenienced by them. Unfortunately, I had made a sarcastic comment in reply, knowing that she hasn’t slept at her own house in months. We had continued escalating things, stupidly, until I had finally come to my senses enough to talk us both down from what was quickly becoming a full-blown argument. When we had gone to bed, having both apologized to each other, I had let it go and left this morning before she was even awake.

“Katniss, you didn’t have to do that. Last night was just as much my fault.”

She looks at me with a warning. Right. She doesn’t like it when I don’t just accept these gestures from her, whether I agree with her perceived need for them or not.

I hold up my hands and smile, “Sorry! Let’s try that again.” I walk out of the kitchen and come right back in.

“Katniss! You cooked! Thanks so much!”

She laughs at me now, and I relax once more. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that. If she had just laughed at my comment last night I would have let her throw as many clothes on the floor as she wanted to.

I immediately take her in my arms, carefully dodging the sauce-covered ladle she’s brandishing, and catch her gaze before lowering my lips to hers. I brush them, lightly, relishing every detail about them – small, soft, chapped lips that I never want to stop kissing.

“You can cook for me anytime,” I whisper.

She leans into me, parting her lips just enough for the tip of her tongue to lick mine. She tastes of tomatoes and basil.

“Sit down, Peeta, and stop distracting me.”

I slide my hands down to her bottom and squeeze, “Only if you promise I can distract you later…” I suggest.

She playfully swats my arm with her free hand and I walk over to the cupboard, grabbing two glasses that I fill with water before sitting down. She’s made pasta topped with meat and red sauce – nothing fancy, but quite an accomplishment for her on her own.

We chat through dinner, and I catch her up on the bakery, café and town news. Hasmik works with me in the bakery, and I share with her that he’s been spending time with a newly-arrived woman from Thirteen, Jenna. She shares that Haymitch stopped by earlier, apparently after receiving a call from Plutarch Heavensbee talking about doing a “one-year-later” show and interviewing the three of us. She then says she can’t repeat what Haymitch told him to do with that idea or what he threatened to do to Plutarch if he tried to make it happen. He stopped by to give us a heads-up in case anyone called us about it.

After we clean up dinner, we sit in the living room in front of the fire, Katniss nestled against my chest and under my arm, playing with my fingers. I am so content, so fulfilled, that I find myself feeling overly emotional. In spite of everything we’ve both lost, what I’ve found with  her can’t even begin to compare to the meager dreams I used to have about us being together when we were young. I can’t help but wonder if she feels the way I do about how far we’ve come.

“Can you believe it’s been a year? Some days it seems like only yesterday we were in Thirteen, and some days it feels like a lifetime ago.”

She doesn’t say anything. I know she’s thinking about Prim, though. She’s always quiet when she’s thinking about Prim. We’ve only had a couple of conversations about everything that happened – as much as I want to talk with her, I understand that it’s about the hardest thing I could ask her to do. I know that over time, as she feels ready, she’ll open up to me more and more about everything. So I don’t press, usually. But tonight, I’m wanting to know where she is, how she feels about all this.

She surprises me.

“Prim would be happy for me, I think.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard her say her sister’s name without crying. I’m not sure what to say, but I want her to keep talking.

“You think so?”

She nods. “Yes, I do. She always wanted me to be happy.”

My heart skips a beat. I’m almost afraid to ask for confirmation of what she’s implying. “And are you? Happy?”

She turns to look up at me, her beautiful face aglow from the firelight, the flecks of color in her grey eyes seemingly dancing as the light in the room flickers.

“Yes, Peeta, I am.”

I pull her into me fully, squeezing my arms around her lithe form as I squeeze my eyes shut to hold in the tears of joy that threaten to ruin this moment. I am elated. I never, ever want this to end – Katniss being happy, with me. Without thinking, without realizing I’m even saying it, the words erupt out of me.

“Marry me.”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. Neither do I. My mind starts scrambling, desperately seeking a way out of this that doesn’t result in Katniss running for the hills. I am such an idiot. What have I done? I know how she feels about marriage. I know I’ve quite possibly just ruined everything. When am I going to learn?

“Katniss, I…” I have no idea what I’m going to say, but I have to get us out of this.

“Peeta….”

I back away from her. “No, it’s okay. I’m so sorry. Please, just don’t freak out. I know you need more time, or maybe never. I…it’s just. Oh God, can we just…”

“Peeta!”

I stop rambling at her tone. She’s looking at me with the strangest look on her face.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper as I pull her back into an embrace. “Please don’t be mad, okay?”

“Yes.”

I freeze, completely confused by what I’ve just heard. We’re still holding each other, and I’m not sure what to do. I pull back slowly, my hands moving to her shoulders so I can see her face fully.

“Yes, you won’t be mad at me?” I breathe. I am incapable of producing anymore sound than a mere whisper.

She smiles at me, a huge, uninhibited smile, and I’m undone. “Yes, I will marry you,” she says again, firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

I pull her into me again so forcefully she may not be able to breathe now. As my hand cups the back of her head and tears escape the corner of my eyes, I place my head in the crook of her neck and whisper into her ear, “I love you…so much!”

"I love you, too, Peeta."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I know it jumped ahead a bit, but honestly, we're coming to the end of the story. Hope some of you will leave some reviews to help me feel inspired to write a worthy ending!


End file.
